•§;  '•'. : 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Half-Forgotten  Romances 

of 

American  History 


Bv 

ELISABETH  ELLICOTT  POE 


PRIVATELY   PRINTED 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 
December,  1922 


Copyright,  1922,  by  ELISABETH  ELLICOTT  FOB 


NOTE. — Reprinted,  by  permission,  from  the 
Washington  Post 

NATIONAL  CAPITAL  PRESS.  INC.,  WASHINGTON.  D.  C. 


cni 


To  Mrs.  Clarence  Crittenden  Calhoun. 

This  little  sheaf  of  tales  from  the  treasure  house 
of  American  History  I  inscribe  to  you  as  the  earnest 
of  my  friendship. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

1.     The    Lady    Pocahontas    and    Captain    John 

Smith 5 

2.  Priscilla  Mullins  and  John  Alden 18 

3.  George   Washington   and    Martha    Dandridge 

Custis 28 

4.  Edgar  Allan  Poe  and  Helen  Whitman 37 

5.  Abraham  Lincoln  and  Ann  Rutledge 44 

6.  Robert  Edward  Lee  and  Mary  Parke  Custis.  .  52 


CHAPTER  1 
The  Lady  Pocahontas  and  Captain  John  Smith 

IT  WAS  winter  in  Virginia,  A.   D.   1607.     Gone  were 
the  Italian  blue  skies  of  the  spring  and  summer  wnich 
had  charmed  the  Jamestown  settlers  when  the  ships  God- 
speed, Susan   Constant  and  the  Discovery  sailed  up  the 
Powhatan    River,    rechristened    by    the    voyagers    the 
"James"  in  honor  of  the  King  of  England.     The  dog- 
wood, wild  cherry,  crab  apple,  mulberry  and  persimmon 
trees  had  lost  their  blooms,  but  here  and  there  through 
£2grim,  white  woods  gleamed  the  red  of  the  holly  tree. 

GOn  giant  oaks  clustered  the  white  berry  of  the  mistletoe, 

'  "  a  strange  reminder  to  the  Englishmen  of  the  Druid  faith 

rp  of  their  forefathers. 

In  the  Indian  village,   Werowocomoco,  on  the  York 

*."  River,  lived  the  mighty  Powhatan,  chief  of  the  region. 

2  The  village  was  situated  about  three  miles  above  the 
present  Yorktown,  where  the  lion  of  England  surrendered 
in  later  years  to  the  lion's  cub,  America.  It  was  one  of 

<^   three  capital  villages  of  the  Powhatan  confederation  of 
"    Indians.     The   others    were    Orapakes,    on   the    Chicka- 

JQ  hominy  River,  near  Powhatan,  and  Powhatan,  near  the 

>  present  site  of  the  city  of  Richmond. 

f  Werowocomoco  was  composed  of  25  or  30  wigwams  or 
houses  built  of  saplings.  These  were  planted  at  regular 
distances  like  posts,  then  bent  over  and  tied  together  in 

.    the  middle.     The  houses  were  built  up  by  skillful  applica- 

|  tion  of  barks  and  grasses  adroitly  interwoven.  Their 
shape  was  either  oblong  or  circular.  Sixty  stalwart  war- 
riors  guarded  the  sacred  person  of  Powhatan.  Powhatan  's 
domestic  relations  are  quaintly  put:  "He  had  a  mul- 
tiplicity  of  women."  It  is  apparent  that  Powhatan,  in 
common  with  other  royalties,  followed  King  Solomon's 
practical  advice  and  brought  upon  himself  marital  trouble 
by  adding  rather  than  reducing  possibilities  in  the  number 
of  wives.  Powhatan,  however,  had  one  kingly  prerogative 
lesser  mortals  lack  in  these  more  progressive  days.  If 
he  tired  of  a  wife,  he  gave  her  away  to  a  friend  as  a  token 
of  royal  favor.  Such  an  improvement  on  the  modern 
divorce  court! 

T.  R.  would  have  rejoiced  in  Powhatan's  family. 
He  had  twenty  sons  and  twelve  daughters.  The  light 
of  his  eyes  was  the  Princess  Matoaka,  his  twelve-year-old 

5 


| 
i 


6      Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

daughter,  in  the  vernacular  "Pocahontas."  This  name 
meant  "a  bright  stream  between  two  hills." 

With  his  long  feather  quill,  a  Jamestown  author  quaintly 
describes  the  Lady  Pocahontas:  "A  little  girl  wrapped  in 
a  robe  of  doeskin,  lined  and  edged  with  pigeon  down,  a 
white  heron  feather  in  her  black  hair,  a  forest  maid  truly, 
but  royal  every  inch  of  her." 

Pocahontas  was  a  merry  child,  the  playmate  of  her 
numerous  brothers,  most  unusual  in  Indian  households. 
She  was  fond  of  boyish  sports — a  Nimrod  unsurpassed. 
Acquainted  with  every  inch  of  the  deep  forests,  which 
surrounded  the  capital  villages,  she  roamed  carefree 
through  them.  She  passed  the  months  going  from  one 
capital  to  another  with  her  father.  Powhatan  was  regal 
in  the  extreme,  and  believed  in  keeping  up  all  the  trap- 
pings of  royalty,  so  these  migrations  of  the  forest  courts 
were  pageants  to  her  childish  eyes. 

As  yet  romance  had  passed  her  by.  She  was  content 
with  childish  games.  She  dreamed  not  of  a  world  beyond 
the  seas  nor  that  in  years  to  come  she  was  to  write  her 
name  imperishably  on  the  pages  of  American  history  as 
the  "Savior  of  Jamestown."  No  hint  of  this  high  destiny 
came  to  her  as  she  played  with  her  brothers  in  the  royal 
courtyards  of  mighty  Powhatan 's  "palaces."  Her  horizon 
was  bordered  by  the  edges  of  the  mighty  forests  peopled 
by _  enemy  tribesmen  and  the  imps  and  devils  of  her  crude 
religion.  To  her  primitive  mind,  all  men  and  women 
were  copper  hued  like  the  stalwarts  of  her  race. 

Only  dimly  did  she  visualize  a  world  that  lay  beyond 
the  great  waters.  A  few  months  before,  a  tale  had  come 
of  a  strange  race  of  seafarers,  storm  driven  into  one  of  the 
lower  islands  on  the  Powhatan  River.  These  wanderers 
had  set  up  strange  altars.  They  were  palefaced,  "whiter 
than  the  winter's  snow,"  according  to  the  tales.  All  the 
Indian  world  was  agog  with  news  of  them  and  filled 
with  a  vague  uneasiness  and  fear. 

Powhatan  had  not  been  idle.  His  scouts  had  inves- 
tigated the  invasion  of  his  territory.  He  consulted  many 
anxious  hours  with  his  medicine  men  and  other  advisers. 
Undecided  as  to  what  course  to  pursue,  he  was  biding  his 
time.  The  gossip  of  the  villages  reached  the  royal  wig- 
wams and  Pocahontas  was  fired  with  the  vivid  tales  of  the 
scouts  anent  the  wonders  of  the  white  strangers. 

While  peacefully  playing  with  her  boy  chums  one  day, 
a  shout  rang  through  the  village.  A  tribal  canoe  was 
coming  up  the  river.  Its  warriors  had  a  captive  "pale- 
face." The  Indian  boys  and  Pocahontas  ran  to  the 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History      7 

water's  edge,  as  eager  children  will  the  world  over  to  see 
a  curious  sight  or  person.  As  the  canoe  was  beached, 
Pocahontas  looked  across  the  intervening  waters  into  the 
face  of  Capt.  John  Smith.  She  became  a  woman  at  the 
sight  of  this  gallant  soldier  of  fortune — yea,  doomed  to 
love  and  to  love  in  vain  and  at  last  to  die  broken-hearted 
in  a  strange  land  because  her  love  was  not  returned. 

The  pale  face  at  whom  she  looked  was  one  of  the  brave, 
pioneer  spirits  of  the  island  kingdom  engaging  in  extend- 
ing the  boundaries  of  King  James  I,  then  on  the  throne 
of  England,  and  incidentally  winning  fame,  renown  and 
riches  for  themselves — if  all  went  well.  Smith  had  had  a 
romantic  career;  he  had  adventured  in  many  lands  and 
under  many  captains,  fought  with  the  Germans  against 
the  Turks,  was  captured  by  them  and  held  as  a  slave  in 
Constantinople.  On  his  return  to  England  he  heard  the 
tales  of  the  wondrous  virgin  country  overseas  and  fol- 
lowed the  footsteps  of  Raleigh  and  Gilbert.  The  English 
flag  had  been  planted  in  America  by  the  intrepid  Raleigh 
and  other  members  of  the  Roanoke  colony — that  famed 
lost  settlement  that  preceded  Jamestown  and  whose 
brief  existence  was  signalized  by  the  birth  of  Virginia 
Dare,  the  first  white  child  born  here. 

Smith  stood  upright  in  the  canoe  with  hands  bound 
behind  him.  He  was  in  the  thirtieth  year  of  his  life, 
attractive  enough  to  interest  any  woman — Indian  or 
otherwise.  He  wore,  besides  a  dashing  cavalier  mustache, 
a  full  beard,  his  dark  hair  was  long  and  curly  and  the  high 
cavalier  ruff  of  Elizabethan  days  and  the  soldier's  waist- 
coat of  chained  steel  and  dark  but  rich  courtier  dress  set 
off  his  manly  beauty  to  great  advantage.  His  brown  eyes 
gleamed  with  courage  and  fearlessness  and  he  looked  with 
deep  interest  on  the  group  of  savage  children  and  the 
king's  bodyguard  watching  his  approach. 

History  doth  not  record  it  and  even  romantic  imagina- 
tion cannot  picture  Pocahontas  as  attracting  his  attention 
particularly  at  that  time.  The  natives  were  all  alike  to 
him.  In  the  months  the  Jamestown  colony  had  been 
established  Smith  had  gained  some  insight  into  Indian 
nature.  His  thoughts  at  this  juncture  were  probably 
those  of  escape.  Women  were  far  from  his  thoughts. 
His  experiences  in  what  is  now  called  the  Near  East  had 
given  him  preconceived  views  of  "pagans."  The  forest 
people  were  simply  pawns  in  the  game  of  empire  Smith 
was  playing  for  his  king.  The  human  side  of  the  savages 
meant  little  or  nothing  to  him. 

John  Smith  was  not  particularly  well  educated.  Yet  his 


8      Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

learning  was  sufficient  for  the  time.  He  could  read  and 
write,  which  feat  was  more  than  others  of  the  king's 
gallants  could  boast.  Such  religion  as  he  possessed  was 
of  the  soldier  type — something  to  be  fought  for,  but  for 
women  to  actually  practice.  This  was  the  man  to  whom 
the  simple,  child  heart  of  Pocahontas  went  out  as  she 
looked  on  him  in  captivity  that  winter's  day  more  than 
300  years  ago.  Being  a  woman  she  pitied  him  as  she 
gazed,  and  being  a  king's  daughter  she  knew  that  death 
might  mark  the  end  of  his  captivity. 

Powhatan's  brother  and  Vassal  Chieftain,  Opechan- 
canough,  had  captured  Smith,  when  in  order  to  satisfy 
the  complaints  of  the  colonists,  still  eager  for  a  quick 
passage  to  the  East  Indies,  he  had  sailed  up  the  Chicka- 
hominy  river,  hoping  to  discover  a  passage  to  the  south 
seas  or  the  Pacific  ocean.  He  would  have  been  put  to 
instant  death  upon  capture  but  for  the  fact  that  he 
entertained  the  wily  savage  by  his  compass.  The  old 
chief  was  enthralled  by  the  wonder  which  pointed  always 
to  the  North  Star. 

So  he  sent  Smith  to  Powhatan  under  escort,  leaving  it 
to  him  to  decide  his  fate. 

It  was  an  event  to  Powhatan  and  he  received  the  pale- 
face in  regal  state.  He  was  seated  and  50  armed  war- 
riors surrounded  him,  and  back  of  him  stood  a  group 
of  his  wives.  On  the  outskirts  of  the  scene  were  Poca- 
hontas and  the  other  royal  children. 

It  was  one  of  the  great  moments  of  history.  The  prin- 
cipal figures,  Powhatan  and  Capt.  John  Smith  were  well 
matched.  Powhatan  had  a  native  shrewdness  and 
sagacity  which  offset  his  lack  of  general  education  and 
knowledge  of  the  great  world  outside  his  dominion.  A 
historian  of  the  period  described  the  great  chief  by  a  few 
graphic  strokes  of  his  pen. 

"A  goodly  old  man,"  he  wrote,  "not  yet  shrinking, 
although  well  beaten  with  many  strong  and  cold  winters, 
supposed  to  be  little  less  than  80  years  old,  with  grey 
hairs,  but  plain  and  thin,  except  for  his  broad  shoulders; 
some  few  hairs  upon  his  chin  and  upper  lip.  He  hath 
been  a  strong  and  able  savage,  sinewy  and  of  a  daring 
spirit;  vigilant  and  ambitious,  subtle  to  enlarge  his 
dominions." 

Powhatan  was  an  absolute  monarch.  In  him  seemed 
to  have  been  vested  the  legislative,  judicial  and  executive 
branches  of  the  government  of  the  kingdom.  In  common 
with  other  kings  of  his  own  and  later  times,  he  managed 
to  use  a  dummy  council  of  wiseacres,  consisting  of  grey 
beards  of  the  tribes,  to  great  advantage. 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History      9 

Itf  was  with  these  figureheads  that  Powhatan  consulted 
after  he  greeted  Smith  and  invited  him  to  partake  of  the 
royal  feast  that  had  just  been  served.  Powhatan  did  not 
share  the  Arab's  dislike  of  plotting  against  the  man  who 
broke  his  bread.  While  Smith  partook  of  the  royal 
feast  of  turkey  and  venison,  Powhatan  planned  the  ways 
and  means  of  his  death. 

Only  one  person  in  the  assemblage  who  knew  of  Smith's 
danger  cared  as  to  the  outcome.  This  was  Pocahontas, 
who  read  Smith's  death  warrant  in  her  father's  crafty 
looks  and  the  certain,  grim,  silent  preparations  that  went 
on  while  the  involuntary  visitor's  back  was  turned. 
She  knew  he  was  doomed.  Her  quick,  feminine  mind 
cast  about  for  a  means  of  saving  him. 

The  unconscious  Smith  ate  and  drank  with  apparent 
unconcern,  but  he,  too,  was  not  easy  in  his  mind.  By  this 
time  he  had  learned  some  of  the  Indian  ways.  He  felt  all 
was  not  well.  But  he  was  powerless.  He  knew  a  break 
for  liberty  would  be  utter  folly.  His  uncertainty  did  not 
continue  long.  At  a  sign  from  Powhatan  two  huge  stones 
were  brought  in  and  placed  in  the  center  of  the  council 
room.  Smith's  hands,  loosened  for  the  meal,  were  re- 
bound. A  warrior,  with  a  huge  club,  appeared.  Smith 
thought  his  end  had  come,  especially  when  his  captors, 
with  savage  glee  and  much  barbaric  chanting,  drew  him 
to  the  stones,  and  he  was  forced  to  put  his  head  upon 
the  rude  block.  Looking  up  for  a  moment  he  saw  above 
him  the  club  uplifted,  ready  for  the  signal  from  Powhatan. 

Just  as  it  was  about  to  be  given  there  was  a  flash  of 
color.  A  lithe  figure  sprang  across  the  council  ground, 
threw  her  arms  around  Smith  and  protected  him  with  her 
strong  young  body  from  the  threatened  death  blow. 
She  was  exercising  one  of  the  ancient  rights  of  the  royal 
princesses  of  her  tribe,  saving  a  prisoner  by  personal 
appeal. 

Powhatan  sprang  up  aghast.  Pocahontas,  unafraid, 
threw  herself  on  the  ground  before  him  and  begged  for 
the  life  of  the  white  man.  Powhatan  was  reluctant  to 
give  up  his  prey.  He  finally  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of 
his  darling  daughter  and  turned  Smith  over  to  her  as  a 
servant.  However,  Pocahontas  did  not  keep  the  fascinat- 
ing Smith  long  in  this  status.  The  little  princess  soon 
sent  him  back  to  Jamestown  with  a  guard  and  her  best 
wishes.  For  many  weeks  the  memory  of  her  goodness 
proved  a  bond  between  her  people  and  the  whites.  Amica- 
ble relations  existed  between  her  people  and  the  little 
band  of  Englishmen  sheltered  on  Jamestown  island. 


10    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

She  did  not  forget  the  visitor  from  the  land  of  the  pale- 
face. Her  eyes  had  seen  beyond  the  horizon  of  her 
native  woods.  No  more  could  she  content  herself  with 
the  rough  games  of  the  camp  fires  and  the  innocent 
childish  amusements  of  a  few  weeks  before.  It  was 
the  way  of  womankind  she  was  traveling  now.  Though 
it  was  rough  with  the  thorns  of  sacrifice  and  suffering 
yet  on  its  banks  blossomed  the  wild  rose  and  the  first 
sweet  flowers  of  the  spring. 

Pocahontas  soon  followed  the  path  through  the  woods 
to  Jamestown  where  she  was  royally  received,  especially 
as  she  came  bearing  shy  gifts  of  needed  supplies  and  food 
for  the  starving  settlers.  Without  the  firm  but  effective 
hand  of  Smith  on  the  helm  of  affairs  at  Jamestown  during 
his  fateful  trip  up  the  Chickahominy,  affairs  had  gone 
from  bad  to  worse  in  the  little  colony.  When  Smith 
returned  he  found  confusion  and  turmoil.  A  number  of 
settlers  had  died  of  starvation  and  the  rest  were  danger- 
ously near  its  brink. 

The  first  hunger  was  satisfied  by  the  generous  gifts 
of  Pocahontas  given  to  Smith  on  his  departure.  After 
that  she  was  the  colony's  good  fairy  for  months.  She 
came  and  went  freely  among  the  colonists,  a  pretty  sight 
in  her  doeskin  robes — accompanied  by  shy  brothers — and 
a  guard  of  warriors  whose  dark,  unfriendly  faces  brought 
shudders  even  to  the  watching  colonists.  Yet  the  gentle 
Lady  Pocahontas  was  the  friend  of  every  man,  woman 
and  child  in  the  settlement,  and  all  loved  this  maid  of  the 
woods. 

Capt.  John  Smith,  her  released  captive,  was  her  hero 
nevertheless.  She  saw  him  leading  the  colony  on  to 
success — he  was  a  born  leader — and  women  ever  admire 
achievement.  She  watched  with  shy  intentness  the 
progress  of  her  friend.  On  his  part,  according  to  all  the 
near  and  jealous  eyes  that  spied  upon  his  every  move- 
ment, there  never  seems  to  have  been  more  than  a  friendly, 
grateful  interest  in  Powhatan's  daughter.  She  had 
rescued  him  from  death.  For  this  he  was  profoundly 
thankful  and  appreciative. 

But  the  idea  of  romance  between  them  probably  never 
entered  his  head.  She  was  a  savage,  he  a  Christian.  In 
his  mind  between  the  two  yawned  a  great  gulf — over  which 
he  would  not  attempt  to  pass.  Besides,  he  was  intent  on 
bringing  the  colony  to  success  on  the  one  hand  and  fight- 
ing his  active  enemies  on  the  other.  In  addition,  two 
other  foes  stalked  outside  the  palisades,  the  grim  terror, 
famine,  and  the  red  peril  lurking  in  the  unfathomable 
woods. 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History     11 

Yet  John  Smith  was  gentleness  itself  to  little  Pocahon- 
tas.  He  taught  her  how  to  be  civilized.  She  sat  by  him 
hour  after  hour  and  watched  him  govern,  drank  in  his 
tales  of  adventure  and  heard  his  plans  for  the  building 
of  his  part  of  the  great  empire  beyond  the  seas.  Naturally 
gifted  with  a  quick  and  active  mind,  Pocahontas  rapidly 
absorbed  the  ways  of  the  whites.  And,  such  is  the 
woman  heart,  even  at  such  an  early  age,  with  the  advanced 
maturity  of  warm  climates,  her  childish  fancy  ripened  into 
passionate  woman  love.  The  distance  between  their 
lives  was  as  nothing  to  her.  Was  she  not  a  princess? 

John  Smith,  judging  from  history,  pursued  the  even 
tenor  of  his  ways  undisturbed  by  any  woman,  even  the 
red-skinned  princess,  who  waited  by  his  side  for  words  of 
love.  To  her  he  could  give  all  possible  kindness  and 
friendship,  but  never  a  thought  of  love.  He  had  her 
taught  English.  On  the  other  hand  he  gained  from  her  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  the  signs  and  symbols  of  her 
tribal  tongue. 

Pocahontas  was  true  to  her  English  friends,  but  not  so 
her  father.  Powhatan  and  his  wily  tribesmen  were  deter- 
mined that  the  struggling  little  colony  should  not  survive. 
Plot  after  plot  were  launched ;  settlers  who  wandered  far 
in  the  woods  were  mysteriously  slain  and  stray  arrows 
had  a  curious  fashion  of  finding  themselves  in  pioneer 
British  hearts. 

King  James  of  England,  who  preached  the  divine  rights 
of  kings  so  valiantly,  was  consistent  in  his  viewpoint  and 
insisted  that  Powhatan  was  his  royal  brother.  He  sent 
a  crown  and  other  gifts  to  Powhatan  in  token  of  his  high 
regard  and  ordered  that  Powhatan  be  brought  to  James- 
town for  the  ceremonies  of  coronation.  This  was  easier 
said  than  done.  Doughty  Smith  found  that  out  when  he 
tried  to  carry  out  the  royal  mandate. 

Powhatan  was  a  king,  too,  and  knew  his  rights.  "  This 
is  my  land,"  he  told  Smith,  "and  I  also  am  a  king.  If 
your  king  has  sent  me  presents  eight  days  will  I  remain 
at  Werocomoco  to  receive  them.  Your  father  (meaning 
Captain  Newport,  the  custodian  of  the  royal  gifts)  must 
come  to  me,  not  I  to  him." 

So,  as  old  King  Powhatan  would  not  go  to  the  mountain, 
the  mountain  had  to  come  to  him.  Captain  Newport  there- 
fore came  to  Werocomoco  within  the  appointed  eight  days 
bearing  the  presents  from  King  James.  It  took  a  long 
time  to  persuade  Powhatan  to  put  on  the  scarlet  trappings 
of  State.  Finally  he  did.  When  he  was  ordered  to  kneel 
down  to  be  crowned  the  haughty  old  forest  monarch 


12    Half -For  gotten  Romances  of  American  History 

blankly  refused.  However,  by  bearing  hard  on  his  head 
while  he  stooped  a  little  they  managed  to  crown  him.  A 
salute  was  fired  which  so  startled  Powhatan  he  quite  lost 
his  temper  and  retired,  like  Achilles,  to  sulk  in  his  tent. 
Capt.  Smith  and  his  followers  went  back  to  Jamestown 
worn  out  by  the  task  of  making  a  king  "more  a  king." 

A  short  time  after,  Powhatan  again  planned  the  death 
of  Capt.  John  Smith.  Ppcahontas,  "his  dearest  jewel  and 
daughter,"  once  more  foiled  him. 

It  was  the  winter  of  1608.  The  Jamestown  colony  was 
starving  and  Smith  took  some  companions  and  went 
hunting.  He  also  accepted  an  invitation  from  Powhatan, 
well  aware  of  the  condition  of  the  colony,  to  come  to 
Werocomoco.  There  he  promised  if  Smith  would  build 
him  a  house,  give  him  a  grindstone,  fifty  swords,  some 
firearms,  a  hen  and  a  rooster  and  much  beads  and  copper, 
Powhatan  would  reciprocate  with  supplies  of  corn.  Smith 
gladly  accepted.  He  had  a  plan  of  his  own  to  kidnap  the 
crafty  old  chief  and  hold  him  for  a  good  ransom  and  thus 
save  the  colony. 

Powhatan  had  also  been  doing  some  thinking.  He  knew 
either  his  people  or  the  English  must  go.  He  was  deter- 
mined to  exterminate  the  colony.  To  his  mind,  the  first 
man  to  go  was  the  real  leader — Capt.  John  Smith. 

On  the  12th  of  January  the  party  of  English  reached 
Werocomoco.  Several  passages,  verbal  and  otherwise, 
took  place  between  Smith  and  Powhatan,  each  looking  for 
an  opening  where  a  real  hold  could  be  gotten. 

Powhatan  sent  over  a  great  feast  of  venison,  turkey  and 
corn.  The  half-starved  men  delightedly  started  to  pre- 
pare it.  A  group  of  savages  drew  near,  seemingly  friendly 
and  engaging  in  rough  sports,  apparently  amusing  the 
whites.  Suddenly  Pocahontas  appeared  in  the  door  of 
their  cabin.  She  had  come  through  the  dark  and  cold 
night,  unattended,  from  her  father's  palace. 

She  told  the  English  that  Powhatan  had  provided  this 
great  feast  but  had  conspired  to  come  suddenly  upon  them 
preoccupied  with  the  feast  and  destroy  them.  Pocahontas 
begged  them  to  leave.  Captain  Smith,  grateful  for  this 
braye  and  timely  warning,  pressed  some  gifts  upon  the 
Indian  princess,  things  that  must  have  greatly  delighted 
her  childish  heart.  But  she  said,  with  tears  in  her  eyes: 

"I  dare  not  to  be  seen  to  have  any,  for  if  Powhatan 
should  know  it  I  am  but  dead."  With  a  last  shy  goodbye 
she  ran  into  the  woods  and  disappeared.  That  was 
Smith's  last  glimpse  of  her  in  the  New  World.  They 
only  met  once  more  in  England  when  she  had  become  the 
bride  of  another. 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    13 

The  savages  came,  bearing  great  platters  of  food,  even  as 
Pocahontas  had  foretold.  They  begged  the  Englishmen 
to  put  out  the  matches  of  their  guns,  as  the  smoke  made 
them  very  sick,  and  to  sit  down  and  eat  their  suppers. 
The  English  refused,  and  sent  for  Powhatan.  But  he 
would  not  come,  and  with  the  coming  of  high  tide,  the 
party  left  for  Jamestown.  On  the  way  home  the 
Pamunkey  and  the  Matapony  Indians  supplied  them 
with  479  bushels  of  corn  and  200  pounds  of  deer  suet. 

Undoubtedly,  but  for  the  timely  warning  of  Pocahontas, 
Smith  would  have  been  seized  and  put  to  death  at  Wero- 
comoco. 

On  his  return  to  Jamestown,  Smith  finally  consented  to 
succeed  Ratcliffe,  who  had  been  deposed  by  the  colonists. 
He  only  held  office  a  few  months,  however,  as  he  was 
severely  wounded  by  an  explosion  of  gun  powder  on  one 
of  his  expeditions.  A  vessel  arriving  from  England 
opportunely,  Smith  turned  over  the  reins  of  government 
to  George  Percy,  the  brother  of  the  Earl  of  Northumber- 
land, and  departed  for  England.  It  was  an  evil  day  for 
the  colony.  Hardly  had  his  ship  disappeared  over  the 
horizon  when  the  bickering  and  internal  strife  began  again. 

Little  Pocahontas  paid  the  price  of  her  interference. 
The  mighty  Powhatan,  foiled  of  his  prey,  sulked  con- 
stantly. Life  was  unbearable  for  his  wives  and  children. 
Rumors  had  reached  his  ears  that  Pocahontas  had  be- 
trayed his  conspiracy  to  Smith.  He  made  her  life  so 
wretched  that  she  left  home  in  order  to  escape  his  incessant 
anger  and  took  refuge  with  the  Potomac  Indians,  friends 
of  hers.  In  the  wigwam  of  one  Japazaws,  Pocahontas  was 
made  welcome  by  the  women  of  the  household.  She  re- 
mained for  several  years.  The  settlers  at  Jamestown 
missed  her  visits.  No  news  came  of  her,  and  there  seems 
to  have  been  a  silence  of  many  months  between  the 
settlers  and  their  little  Indian  friend. 

Early  in  1612,  Argall  was  sent  out  by  Governor  Dale 
in  search  of  provisions.  Among  the  Indians  he  visited 
was  the  Potomac  tribe,  and  there  he  found  Pocahontas. 
The  frightened  girl  finally  admitted  her  identity  and 
Argall  conceived  the  plan  of  kidnaping  her  and  holding 
her  as  hostage  in  order  to  bring  Powhatan  to  terms. 

Ralph  Hamor,  secretary  to  the  Jamestown  colony,  has 
left  in  his  quaint  phraseology,  a  picturesque  description 
of  the  kidnaping  of  Pocahontas. 

Mr.  Hamor  does  not  excuse  the  deception  that  was 
practised  on  Pocahontas  in  order  to  get  her  into  the  hands 
of  the  English. 


14    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History   • 

He  says  Captain  Argall  dealt  with  the  crafty  Japazaws 
and  offered  him  the  bribe  of  a  copper  kettle  for  himself 
and  wife,  if  they  would  assist  in  the  capture  of  Pocahontas. 
A  copper  kettle  was  evidently  the  price  of  the  precious 
pair,  for  they  drove  the  bargain. 

The  question  was  how  to  get  Pocahontas  aboard  the 
English  ship.  She  shunned  it,  as  if  fearing  danger.  Mrs. 
Japazaws  took  a  hand  in  the  game.  She  pretended  to  be 
overcome  with  a  desire  to  visit  the  English  ship  and, 
according  to  her  instructions,  Japazaws  strictly  forbade  it. 

That  was  enough  for  Pocahontas.  Her  sympathies  were 
immediately  with  the  tyrannized  wife  and,  womanlike,  she 
entreated  the  Indian  chief  to  permit  his  wife  to  go  aboard, 
promising  to  go  with  her.  Hamor  in  speaking  of  this  says 
quaintly,  "Japazaws  thus  wrought  it,  making  his  wife  an  in- 
strument (which  hath  ever  been  most  powerful  in  beguiling 
enticements)  to  effect  the  plot  which  he  had  thus  laid.  He 
agreed  that  himself,  his  wife  and  Pocahontas  would  ac- 
company his  wife  to  the  waterside.  When  there  his  wife 
was  to  feign  tears  (as  who  knows  not  that  woman  can 
command  tears)  whereupon  her  husband,  seeming  to 
pity  those  tears,  gave  her  leave  to  go  aboard  so  that 
it  would  please  Pocahontas  to  accompany  her." 

Once  aboard,  a  supper  was  served  after  which  the  news 
was  broken  to  Pocahontas  that  she  was  a  captive.  Mean- 
while Mr.  and  Mrs.  Japazaws  went  their  way  rejoicing — 
richer  by  one  copper  kettle.  Pocahontas  was  reassured 
by  Argall,  who  promised  her  every  protection  and  liberty 
when  her  father  yielded.  He  persuaded  her  that  her 
temporary  hardship  would  work  permanent  peace  between 
the  Indians  and  the  English.  This  greatly  pleased  her, 
but  not  so  the  news,  so  the  story  goes,  that  Capt.  John 
Smith  was  dead. 

Poor  Pocahontas  was  overwhelmed  with  grief.  Her 
English  was  so  slight  she  could  not  gather  the  truth,  and 
she  languished  in  captivity.  Envoys  with  white  flags 
went  to  Powhatan  to  tell  him  the  English  held  his  darling 
daughter,  "the  Nonparella  of  Virginia,"  as  Hamor  pic- 
turesquely calls  her.  The  ultimatum  was  that  if  he  would 
send  home  the  Englishmen  he  held  in  captivity,  the  tools 
and  arms  his  people  had  stolen,  and  a  certain  supply  of 
corn,  Pocahontas  would  be  restored  to  his  arms. 

Powhatan  was  in  a  quandary.  He  loved  his  daughter, 
indeed,  almost  as  much  as  his  life.  Yet  the  English 
weapons  were  very  alluring  and  very  bright  to  his  savage 
eyes.  It  took  Powhatan  three  months  to  decide  even  to 
listen  to  the  proposals;  then  he  tried  to  temporize  and 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    15 

sent  back  seven  Englishmen,  three  muskets,  one  broad  ax, 
a  whip  saw  and  a  canoe  full  of  corn.  With  this  was  the 
message  that  when  he  got  his  daughter  the  rest  of  the 
requisition  would  follow. 

The  English  were  not  to  be  caught  so  easily.  Back 
went  the  word  to  old  Powhatan,  "Your  daughter  shall  be 
well  used,  but  we  cannot  believe  that  the  rest  of  our  arms 
were  either  lost  or  stolen  from  you.  Therefore  until  you 
send  them  we  will  keep  your  daughter." 

Powhatan  was  infuriated.  His  scouts  had  told  him 
Pocahontas  was  in  no  bodily  danger,  so  he  did  not  fear  for 
her.  He  retired  to  his  wigwam  and  sulked,  and  sulked, 
and  sulked. 

Finally  Governor  Dale,  who  wanted  the  corn  and  his 
men  more  than  he  did  to  annoy  Powhatan,  took  Poca- 
hontas and  150  men,  in  the  vessels  of  the  colony,  and  went 
on  a  visit  to  Powhatan.  The  Indian  chief  refused  to  see 
him.  Dale  sent  word  that  he  wished  to  send  Pocahontas 
to  her  father's  loving  arms.  In  vain  they  argued;  Pow- 
hatan would  have  none  of  it.  They  had  to  return  to 
Jamestown  with  Lady  Pocahontas — and  minus  the  corn. 

Pocahontas  remained  a  nominal  prisoner  at  Jamestown 
for  about  a  year.  She  was  treated  with  marked  considera- 
tion and  kindliness  by  all.  She  always  entertained  the 
warmest  feeling  for  the  English  settlers,  and  her  life  of 
imprisonment  was  by  no  means  one  of  hardship.  Now  a 
woman  18  years  old,  Pocahontas  was  beautiful  and  gentle. 

Captain  Smith  was  in  England,  but  there  was  another 
man,  a  kindly  widower,  "an  honest  gentleman  of  good 
behavior  in  the  Jamestown  Colony  who  liked  the  Lady 
Pocahontas."  His  name  was  John  Rolfe. 

Rolfe  displayed  great  concern  as  to  the  conversion  of 
Pocahontas  and  sought  to  convert  her  to  Christianity. 
While  he  was  in  the  prosecution  of  this  most  worthy  pur- 
pose, he  conceived  the  idea  of  marrying  the  Indian  maiden. 
Soon,  from  all  appearances,  he  became  very  much  in  love 
with  her. 

However,  some  historians  have  felt  that  Mr.  Rolfe  was 
more  enamored  of  marrying  a  king's  daughter,  even  a 
dusky  princess,  than  he  was  of  getting  a  new  bride.  He 
also  thought  that  it  might  win  him  preference  as  to  leader- 
ship in  America.  At  any  rate,  Rolfe  wrote  a  letter  to  Sir 
Thomas  Dale  asking  his  advice  about  marrying  the 
maiden.  Sir  Thomas,  delighted,  gave  his  consent.  No- 
body thought  of  asking  poor  old  Powhatan  much  about  it, 
until  Pocahontas  sent  word  by  one  of  her  brothers. 

Powhatan  was  greatly  delighted,  strange  as  it  may  seem. 


16    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

He  sent  an  old  uncle  and  two  brothers  to  Jamestown  to 
attend  the  wedding  ceremonies.  Rolfe  did  not  like  the 
idea  of  marrying  a  heathen,  so  Pocahontas  was  baptized 
into  the  Christian  communion  before  the  marriage  cere- 
mony in  a  historic  scene  that  has  been  immortalized  in  a 
number  of  notable  paintings.  In  her  christening  Poca- 
hontas was  called  Rebecca,  and  because  she  was  a  king's 
daughter  she  was  entitled  to  be  known  as  the  Lady  Rebecca. 

After  the  marriage  of  Pocahontas  and  Mr.  Rolfe  they 
went  to  live  at  Rolfe's  home,  Varina,  in  one  of  the  new 
settlements  along  the  James  River  known  as  Bermuda 
Hundred.  Here  lived  Mr.  Whitaker,  the  pastor  of  the 
colony,  and  also  Sir  Thomas  Dale,  who  preferred  country 
life  rather  than  Jamestown. 

At  Varina  her  little  son,  Thomas  Rolfe,  was  born.  In 
1616  Sir  Thomas  Dale  went  back  to  England,  taking  with 
him  Mr.  Rolfe,  his  Indian  princess  wife  and  child,  and  an 
escort  of  Indians  of  both  sexes.  Their  arrival  caused  the 
greatest  excitement  in  England.  From  the  court  down, 
everyone  was  anxious  to  see  the  "redskins,"  and  Poca- 
hontas was  accorded  almost  royal  honors.  Indeed, 
Thomas  Rolfe  was  for  a  time  in  grave  danger  of  a  repri- 
mand from  the  throne  for  his  daring  in  taking  a  member 
of  a  royal  family — he  a  mere  commoner — to  wife. 

Pocahontas  in  the  midst  of  all  the  entertaining  was  not 
happy.  Gone  were  her  native  woods,  and  she  felt  strange 
and  alone  in  the  new  land.  Then,  too,  she  had  learned 
that  she  had  been  deceived  regarding  Capt.  John  Smith — 
he  was  not  dead. 

It  seems  that  Smith  was  somewhat  delayed  in  seeing 
Pocahontas.  But  he  told  Queen  Anne  the  virtues  of 
Pocahontas  and  her  services  to  him  and  to  the  English 
colony  and  for  the  first  time  related  the  story  of  his  rescue 
from  death  by  Pocahontas. 

When  Captain  Smith  at  last  met  Pocahontas  the  for- 
mality of  his  conduct  greatly  distressed  her.  She  said  to 
him: 

"You  did  promise  Powhatan  what  was  yours  should  be 
his  and  he  the  like  to  you.  You  called  him  'father,' 
being  in  his  land  a  stranger,  and  for  the  same  reason  so 
must  I  do  to  you."  Smith  protested,  and  explained  that 
in  England  their  relations  could  not  be  as  they  had  been  in 
America,  and  that  he  "Durst  not  allow  that  title,  because 
she  was  regarded  as  a  king's  daughter." 

"Were  you  not  afraid,"  said  Pocahontas,  "to  come  into 
my  father's  country  and  cause  fear  in  him  and  all  his 
people  but  me,  and  fear  you  here  I  should  call  you  father? 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History     17 

I  tell  you  then  that  I  will,  and  you  shall  call  me  child,  and 
so  I  shall  be  forever  and  ever  your  countryman."  Then 
she  concluded,  with  her  eyes  brimming  over  with  tears, 
"they  did  tell  us  always  you  were  dead,  and  I  knew  no 
other  until  I  came  to  Plymouth." 

That  was  the  sad  end  of  the  romance  and  Captain 
Smith  left  soon  for  the  continent.  With  his  departure, 
the  Indian  princess  turned  her  face  to  the  sea  and  died  of 
homesickness  and  mayhaps  unrequited  affection.  Offici- 
ally her  death  was  registered  as  "galloping  consumption." 
She  died  on  the  eye  of  her  return  to  America.  Captain 
Smith  wrote  in  his  epitaph  of  her:  "It  pleased  God  at 
Gravesend  to  take  this  young  lady  to  his  mercy,  where  she 
made  not  more  sorrow  for  her  unexpected  death  than  joy 
to  the  beholders  to  hear  and  see  her  make  so  religious  and 
godly  an  end." 

Her  child,  Thomas  Rolfe,  was  left  in  England,  where  he 
was  educated.  He  returned  to  America  afterwards. 
From  him  are  descended  some  of  the  leading  families  of 
Virginia — the  Murrays,  Flemings,  Gays,  Whittles,  Robert- 
sons, Boilings  and  Eldridges,  as  well  as  that  branch  of 
Randolphs  to  which  the  famous  John  Randolph,  of  Roa- 
noke,  belonged. 

Mrs.  Sigourney  wrote  of  Pocahontas  in  these  beautiful 
lines: 

The  council  fires  are  quenched  that  erst  so  red 

Their  midnight  volume  mid  the  groves  entwined. 
King,  stately  chief,  warrior  host  are  dead, 

Nor  remnant  nor  memory  left  behind. 
But  thou,  O  forest  princess,  true  of  heart 
When  o'er  our  fathers  waved  destruction's  dart, 

Shalt  in  their  children's  loving  hearts  be  shrined ; 
Pure,  lovely  star  o'er  oblivion's  wave, 
It  is  not  meet  thy  name  should  moulder  in  the  grave. 


CHAPTER  2 
Priscilla  Mullins  and  John  Alden 

But  as  he  warmed  and  glowed,  in  his  simple  and  eloquent 

language, 

Quite  forgetful  of  self,  and  full  of  the  praise  of  his  rival, 
Archly  the  maiden  smiled,  and,  with  eyes  overrunning 

with  laughter, 
Said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "  Why  don't  you  speak  for 

yourself,  John?" 

— H.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

EVERY  school  child  that  arrives  at  the  dignity  of 
fifth-grade  work  has  heard  the  romantic  story  of 
Priscilla  and  John  Alden.  Yet  only  in  bare  outlines  is 
this  dramatic  episode  recited  although  it  remains  the  most 
notable  contribution  of  the  Pilgrim  to  the  collection  of 
New  World  love  stories,  as  it  were. 

The  word  "Pilgrim"  has  the  immediate  reaction  of 
austerity,  cold,  unimpassioned  life.  But  this  was  not 
true.  Beneath  the  drab  coat  of  the  Pilgrim  burned  a 
living  fire  of  fidelity  and  constancy,  of  devotion  to  the 
ideal  woman  and  longing  for  home  life.  This  longing 
to  establish  good  homes  was  the  primal  reason  for  the 
Pilgrims  leaving  Holland  and  braving  the  dangers  over- 
seas. In  fact,  the  very  repression  of  Pilgrim  lives,  set 
apart  as  they  were,  to  live  to  die,  made  their  love  epi- 
sodes more  intense.  Under  the  gray  skies  of  New  Eng- 
land love  blossomed  in  those  pioneer  days,  just  as  it  did 
beneath  the  smiling  blue  of  fair  Virginia,  their  neighbor 
to  the  south. 

A  striking  feature  of  the  Priscilla  and  John  Alden 
story  is  that  it  presents  the  first  instance  of  the  triangle 
romance  in  American  history.  It  was  an  innocent  tri- 
angle, and  self-sacrifice  and  abnegation  featured  it.  But 
the  eternal  triangle  element  was  there — two  men  and 
one  woman,  both  of  whom  loved  her  dearly,  but,  woman- 
like, she  loved  one  only,  and  when  in  his  stupidity  the 
lucky  man  did  not  recognize  her  love  she  took  her  leap 
year  advantage — 1620 — and  told  him  so. 

The  perversity  which  guides  a  woman  in  love  matters 
was  evident  in  Priscilla  Alden's  choice.  John  Alden 
was  a  stalwart  youth,  and  made  her  a  good  husband. 
She  saw  heaven  in  his  blue  eyes,  beyond  doubt,  but  for 

18 


Half-Forgotten  Rotnances  of  American  History    19 

most  women  the  valiant  soldier  of  fortune,  Capt.  Miles 
Standish,  would  have  had  more  appeal.  Standish  was 
surrounded  with  the  halo  of  romance  and  adventure  in  a 
dozen  countries;  he  was  strangely  like  that  other  doughty 
adventurer  of  America's  beginnings,  Capt.  John  Smith — 
a  stout  heart  his,  and  fitted  thereby  for  the  stern  tasks 
that  awaited  these  Pilgrim  folk,  who  sought  on  the  bleak 
New  England  coast  the  right  to  accept  the  dictates  of 
their  own  conscience  and  "freedom  to  worship  God." 

Perhaps  Priscilla  felt  that  to  men  of  such  type  women 
are  more  or  less  "incidents,"  proving  the  poet  Byron's 
confession  that  "Love  is  to  man's  life  a  thing  apart.  "Pis 
woman's  whole  existence." 

Perhaps  she  had  the  fear  that  in  years  to  come  Miles 
Standish  might  weary  of  the  tameness  of  the  Plymouth 
hearth  fire  and  harken  to  the  call  of  wanderlust  once 
more.  John  Alden,  on  the  other  hand,  was  the  steady- 
going  kind,  a  student,  of  judicial  temperament,  imbued 
with  the  tenets  of  the  Pilgrim  faith,  while  Miles  Standish 
as  a  soldier  of  the  church  militant  was  perhaps  not  over- 
troubled  with  religious  theories  and  intricacies,  a  "fight- 
ing round  head,"  so  to  speak,  caring  more  for  the  battle 
than  for  the  actual  issues  involved,  a  battling  Puritan, 
like  the  fighting  Quaker  Ellicotts  of  Maryland,  who  have 
managed,  in  spite  of  being  Friends,  to  be  in  every  scrap 
in  which  Uncle  Sam  has  had  a  hand. 

The  Indians  of  Cape  Cod  gave  Capt.  Miles  Standish 
plenty  of  exercise  for  his  broad  sword  and  his  blunder- 
busses, and  he  found  a  new  thrill  of  battle  in  the  Massa- 
chusetts woods  that  quite  recompensed  him  for  the  loss 
of  participation  in  some  of  the  wars  that  were  raging  in 
Europe  at  the  time. 

It  may  come  as  a  surprise  to  most  people  that  the  Pil- 
grim fathers  were  not  "gray  beards,"  as  generally  sup- 
posed, but,  on  the  contrary,  young  men.  Only  two  of 
the  whole  company  were  more  than  50  years  of  age  and 
only  nine  were  more  than  40.  Standish  was  36  years 
old;  John  Alden  only  21.  There  again  comes  in  another 
reason  why  John  Alden  was  chosen  by  the  sprightly 
Priscilla  and  Standish  turned  down  by  proxy.  It  was 
youth  calling  to  youth  with  Priscilla  and  John  Alden.  To 
her  17-year-old  eyes  Captain  Standish  was  an  "old  man." 

John  Alden  was  of  her  own  generation.  May  pre- 
ferred to  wed  with  May  instead  of  September,  and  there's 
no  gainsaying  a  woman's  "because,"  which  in  one  word 
sums  up  any  given  action  of  hers. 

Moreover,  John  Alden  offered  Priscilla  the  flower  of  a 


20    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

first  love;  Miles  Standish  had  buried  his  heart  in  a  woman's 
grave — that  of  his  first  wife,  lovely  Rose  Standish,  frail  of 
body  but  great  of  heart,  who  succumbed  with  fifteen  of  the 
twenty-nine  women  who  had  sailed  from  England  and 
Holland  to  the  hardships  of  the  first  Plymouth  winter, 
leaving  no  child  to  comfort  her  sorrowing  husband.  All 
that  remains  to  present  times  of  Rose  Standish  is  an  em- 
broidered lace  cap,  treasured  by  a  descendant. 

Rose  Standish 's  death  was  the  first  that  took  place 
after  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims.  The  date  was  January 
29,  1621,  or  less  than  six  weeks  after  reaching  Plymouth. 

The  romantic  figure  of  Capt.  Miles  Standish  looms 
large  in  the  Pilgrim  history.  He  was  a  man  of  parts, 
perhaps  the  most  unique  figure  of  all  the  Pilgrims.  A 
gentleman  born,  he  was  one  of  the  Lancashire  Standishes, 
the  same  family  that  had  John  Standish,  the  quick-witted 
Englishman,  the  first  to  wound  Wat  Tyler  after  he  had 
been  felled  by  the  lord  mayor  of  London  during  his  attempt 
on  the  person  of  the  king.  For  this  act  of  valor  John 
Standish  had  been  knighted  and  been  given  lands  in 
reward.  The  family  estate  was  Duxbury  Hall,  a  fact 
that  caused  Capt.  Miles  Standish  to  give  the  name  Dux- 
bury  to  the  Massachusetts  town  he  founded  and  which  it 
bears  today. 

The  family  could  boast  of  a  long  and  illustrious  line 
of  ancestors.  In  the  great  controversy  between  the 
Catholics  and  the  Protestants  there  was  a  division  in  the 
family,  part  adhering  to  the  ancient  faith  and  part  ac- 
cepting the  Protestant  religion.  The  Protestants  were 
the  Standishes  of  Duxbury  Hall.  The  income  from  the 
property  for  that  date  was  very  large,  some  $500,000  a 
year. 

It  is  said  that  Miles  Standish  was  the  legal  heir  of  all 
this  property,  and  that  by  gross  injustice  he  was  deprived 
of  it.  Recently  a  search  was  made  of  the  records  by  the 
heirs  of  Miles  Standish  and  it  was  found  that  he  was  the 
rightful  heir  of  the  property,  but  that  the  legal  evidence 
had  been  fraudulently  destroyed.  Miles  Standish  was 
therefore  compelled  to  seek  his  own  fortune,  and  from 
various  motives,  which  can  be  easily  divined,  he  chose 
the  profession  of  arms. 

He  was  sent  by  her  majesty  Elizabeth  to  serve  in  the 
Netherlands  in  aid  of  the  Dutch  and  Flemish  against 
Philip  II  of  Spain.  He  was  quartered  at  Leyden,  Hol- 
land, at  the  time  Pastor  John  Robinson,  with  his  Pilgrim 
church,  settled  there.  Standish,  although  a  member  of 
the  Church  of  England,  soon  formed  warm  friendships 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    21 

among  the  Pilgrims,  and  when  the  Pilgrims  emigrated 
he  came  with  them,  casting  his  sword  and  his  fortunes, 
such  as  they  were,  in  with  their  lot. 

Captain  Standish  was,  by  common  consent,  put  in 
charge  of  the  military  defenses  of  Plymouth.  As  there 
were  only  thirty-four  adult  male  colonists,  out  of  which 
Capt.  Standish  was  free  to  choose,  his  "great  invincible 
army  of  twelve  men"  was  a  tolerably  accurate  description. 
Standish,  with  this  poor  material,  being  the  recognized 
military  leader,  developed  qualities  which  have  deservedly 
placed  him  high  in  the  temple  of  fame. 

But  he  was  not  only  a  military  leader,  for  he  came  to 
have  influence  as  a  man  of  affairs  and  a  counselor  in 
civil  matters.  For  many  years  he  was  one  of  the  gover- 
nors of  the  council.  In  1626  he  was  sent  by  the  colonists 
to  England  as  their  representative  to  adjust  business 
matters  with  the  merchant  adventurers. 

William  Bradford,  the  wise,  who  was  one  of  the  May- 
flower passengers,  must  have  looked  into  the  future  and 
realized  how  in  the  centuries  to  come  the  descendants  of 
the  voyagers  on  that  tiny  vessel  would  be  among  the 
world's  notables.  For  descent  from  those  who  came  in 
the  Mayflower  has  come  to  have  ultra  distinction.  Some 
wag  has  written  that  it  would  have  taken  a  whole  fleet 
to  carry  back  to  England  those  whose  descendants  now 
claim  voyaged  over  in  the  Mayflower.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
there  is  no  mystery  about  the  name  and  station  of  the 
Mayflower  passengers,  for  William  Bradford  wrote  them 
in  a  round  hand  for  all  posterity  to  see  upon  the  ship's 
list,  together  with  descriptive  matter  concerning  each  pas- 
senger, which  has  proven  a  treasure  trove  to  genealogists. 

Of  sturdy  John  Alden,  the  21 -year-old  suitor  for  the 
hand  of  Priscilla  Mullins,  he  wrote:  "John  Alden  was 
hired  for  a  cooper  at  Southampton,  where  the  ship  vic- 
tualed, and,  being  a  hopeful  young  man,  was  much  desired, 
but  left  to  his  owne  liking,  to  go  or  stay,  when  he  came 
here,  but  stayd  and  maryed  here."  Longfellow  has 
pictured  John  Alden  in  the  new  land  as  the  friend,  com- 
panion and  lodger  of  Capt.  Miles  Standish,  with  whom  he 
is  said  to  have  been  on  terms  of  the  closest  intimacy. 

Other  biographers  of  John  Alden  stated  that  he  was 
the  first  to  step  ashore  at  Plymouth  Rock.  Longfellow 
in  his  description  of  Alden  says  he  was  fair  haired,  azure 
eyed,  with  delicate  complexion — typically  English,  in 
other  words — with  that  rare  beauty  of  coloring  that 
made  St.  Gregory  pause  in  the  market  place  at  Rome 
and,  viewing  the  captive  Britons  exposed  for  sole  there, 


22    Half -For  gotten  Romances  of  American  History 

exclaim,  "Not  Angles  but  angels."  There  is  no  doubt 
that  John  Alden  was  the  youngest  of  the  men  who  came 
in  the  Mayflower.  He  seems  to  have  been  an  educated 
man  as  well  as  a  cooper,  an  uncommon  quality  in  that 
day,  so  there  is  a  chance  that  John  Alden  assumed  the 
role  of  cooper  in  order  to  become  part  of  the  Pilgrims' 
religious  expeditionary  forces,  which  excited  much  atten- 
tion wherever  the  Speedwell  or  the  Mayflower  touched. 

At  any  rate,  he  became  in  a  sense  the  clerk  of  the  colony 
after  his  arrival  at  Plymouth,  especially  in  matters  per- 
taining to  the  military.  From  the  window  from  which 
Captain  Standish  gazed  as  he  talked  to  his  young  com- 
panion could  be  seen  the  early  grave  of  Rose  Standish, 
over  which  a  field  of  wheat  was  growing,  an  expedient 
adopted  by  the  settlers  so  the  Indians  might  not  know 
how  many  of  the  colony  had  died. 

It  is  said  that  John  Alden  had  already  noticed  the 
youthful  Priscilla  Mullins  in  these  early  days  of  the  set- 
tlement. The  stage  is  now  set  with  two  of  the  principal 
characters  outlined,  so  it  is  time  for  the  entrance  of 
Priscilla,  the  Mayflower  of  Plymouth,  as  she  was  fondly 
called  by  her  contemporaries. 

Priscilla  Mullins  was  as  fair  and  fragile  as  a  snow 
drop  blooming  amid  the  snows  of  January.  A  sentimental 
interest  has  hovered  around  her  memory  because  of  the 
courtship  of  Miles  Standish,  which  ended  in  her  marry- 
ing another.  This  delicate  Pilgrim  is,  too,  described 
faithfully  by  William  Bradford  in  his  Mayflower  Chronicle. 
"Mr.  William  Mullines,"  reads  the  passenger  list,  "and 
his  wife  and  two  children,  Joseph  and  Priscilla,  and 
a  servant,  Robert  Carter."  Older  brothers  and  sisters  of 
Priscilla  and  Joseph  had  been  left  behind  in  Leyden. 
They  came  not  to  the  new  land,  but  were  cared  for  by 
friends  there,  and  their  record  is  lost.  Priscilla  at  this 
time  was  only  16,  just  on  the  verge  of  womanhood.  We 
can  picture  Priscilla  not  in  the  conventional  uniform 
attire  of  the  pictured  Pilgrim,  which  with  its  gray  gowns 
with  dainty  white  collars  and  cuffs  with  stiff  caps  and 
dark  capes  is  a  mere  artistic  caper,  according  to  the  best 
authority.  Women  of  Priscilla's  station  in  life,  and  it 
was  of  the  upper  middle  class,  wore  the  English  dress  of 
the  period.  This  was  often  full  skirts  of  silk  of  varied 
colors;  long  pointed  stomachers,  often  with  bright  tone; 
full,  sometimes  puffed  or  slashed,  sleeves,  and  lace  collars 
or  "whisks"  resting  upon  the  shoulders.  Often  the 
gowns  were  plaited  or  silk  laced;  they  often  opened  in 
front,  showing  petticoats  that  were  quilted  or  embroid- 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    23 

ered  in  brighter  colors.  Later  came  the  dress  restric- 
tions, but  not  in  the  early  days  of  the  colony. 

Fortune  had  severe  trials  in  store  for  Priscilla  Mullins. 
During  that  terrible  first  winter  not  only  her  father,  but 
her  mother  and  brother  as  well,  died  and  she  was  left 
alone,  orphaned  and  friendless  in  a  strange  new  world. 
Her  plight  seems  to  have  aroused  the  sympathy  of  the 
entire  colony.  The  women  adopted  her  en  masse,  and  as 
her  beauty  was  as  evident  as  her  goodness  all  the  young 
men  in  the  colony  would  have  liked  to  have  done  the  same 
thing. 

Friends  took  Priscilla  into  their  home,  and  there  the 
first  months  of  her  mourning  were  passed.  Perhaps  the 
"dear  gossips"  of  Plymouth  colony  planned  for  an  early 
marriage  for  Priscilla  as  the  best  way  out  of  her  difficul- 
ties because  there  seems  to  have  been  a  good  deal  of 
match-making  activities  in  her  vicinity. 

Priscilla  was  trained  at  the  domestic  task  of  spinning, 
and  probably  was  also  one  of  the  women  "who  went 
willingly  into  ye  field  and  set  corne."  There  was  work 
for  all  to  keep  the  little  colony  fed,  shod  and  clothed  from 
the  meager  facilities  at  hand.  A  crude  ballad  called 
"Our  Forefathers'  Song"  described  the  general  situation 
in  Plymouth  very  aptly.  It  runs: 

The  place  where  we  live  is  a  wilderness  wood, 
Where  grass  is  much  wanted  that's  fruitful  and  good; 
Our  mountains  and  hills  and  our  valleys  below 
Are  commonly  covered  with  frost  and  with  snow. 

Our  clothes  we  brought  with  us  are  apt  to  be  torn, 
They  need  to  be  clouted  soon  after  they  are  worn, 
But  clouting  our  garments  they  hinder  us  nothing, 
Clouts  double  are  warmer  than  single  whole  clothing. 

If  fresh  meat  be  wanted  to  fill  up  our  dish, 
We  have  carrots  and  turnips  whenever  we  wish, 
And  if  we've  a  mind  for  a  delicate  dish, 
We  go  to  the  clam  bank  and  there  we  catch  fish. 

For  pottage  and  puddings  and  custards  and  pies, 
Our  pumpkins  and  parsnips  are  common  supplies ! 
We  have  pumpkin  at  morning  and  pumpkin  at  noon, 
If  it  was  not  for  pumpkins  we  should  be  undoon. 

The  first  edge  of  his  grief  for  Rose  Standish  gone, 
Captain  Standish  seems  to  have  had  his  soldier  fancy  capti- 
vated by  the  girlish  charms  of  Priscilla  Mullins.  She, 


24    Half -Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

too,  had  her  griefs,  and  it  is  possible  that  a  common  bond 
in  their  mourning  drew  them  together  in  sympathy. 
She,  too,  was  well  born,  for  her  father  at  his  death  was 
mentioned  with  regret  as  "a  man  pious  and  well  deserv- 
ing, endowed  also  with  considerable  outward  estate;  and 
had  it  been  the  will  of  God  that  he  had  survived,  might 
have  proved  an  useful  instrument  in  his  place."  To  his 
friend  John  Carver  he  committed  his  wife  and  children, 
but  before  his  will  had  been  probated  the  wife  and  son 
and  the  servant  as  well  had  joined  him  in  death. 

John  Alden  also  had  not  been  idle  in  discovering  the 
charms  of  Priscilla  Mullins.  His  stanch  heart  had  been 
wrung  by  her  grief,  and  often  when  the  day's  labors  were 
over  he  would  find  his  way  with  his  friend  Capt.  Miles 
Standish  to  the  residence  of  good  John  Carver  and  chat 
with  the  fair  young  visitor  in  the  household. 

This  went  on  for  some  time.  Finally  one  day  Captain 
Standish  confided  to  the  thunderstruck  John  Alden  that 
his  desire  had  fallen  upon  Priscilla  Mullins  and  that 
he  wished  to  make  her  his  second  wife.  He  pointed  out 
that  Priscilla  was  an  "orphan  and  alone  and  needed  care 
and  protection.  "I  am  a  maker  of  war  and  not  a  maker 
of  phrases,"  said  the  bluff  old  soldier  as  he  pleaded  with 
Alden  to  go  and  present  his  cause  to  Priscilla. 

Alden  was  reluctant,  his  heart  with  love  of  Priscilla 
overflowing,  and  feeling  that  this  was  more  than  even  a 
friend  should  ask  of  another.  Unsuspecting,  Miles  Stand- 
ish urged  him,  however,  and,  reluctantly,  most  reluc- 
tantly, Alden  went  forth  to  win  for  another  man  what 
he  would  have  given  his  eyes  to  have  captured  for  himself. 

The  poet  has  pictured  the  scene  as  John  Alden  ap- 
peared to  press  the  suit  of  another.  Priscilla,  as  befitting 
to  a  Pilgrim,  was  seated  beside  her  spinning  wheel,  the 
carded  wool  like  a  snow  drift  piled  at  her  knee,  her  white 
hands  feeding  the  spindle,  singing,  as  she  spun,  the  Hun- 
dredth Psalm.  Priscilla  greeted  John  with  a  smile.  After 
some  conversation  the  youth  delivered  his  message. 
Tradition  saith  that  Priscilla  was  dumfounded.  She  had 
been  expecting  a  declaration  from  Alden,  but  never 
dreamed  that  it  would  be  on  behalf  of  another.  Quickly 
she  retorted,  "Why  does  he  not  come  himself?"  Alden 
stumbled  and  said  the  captain  was  "busy."  This  in- 
furiated Priscilla,  and  she  said  wrathfully  that  a  woman's 
heart  was  certainly  worth  the  asking. 

Alden  saw  his  blunder  and  tried  to  retrieve  it  by  recit- 
ing Standish's  glories,  his  good  family,  his  military  rec- 
ord, pressing  his  suit  as  ardently  as  if  it  were  in  very 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    25 

truth  his  own.  "Any  woman  in  Plymouth,  nay,  any 
woman  in  England,"  he  continued,  "might  be  happy  and 
proud  to  be  called  the  wife  of  Miles  Standish." 

Priscilla  looked  up  at  him.  Then  a  tender  look  dawned 
in  her  eyes,  and,  gazing  at  him  directly,  she  queried, 
"Why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself,  John?"  The  revela- 
tion in  her  glance  he  could  not  mistake.  Yet  loyalty  to 
his  friend  prevented  him  from  taking  advantage  of  his 
good  fortune.  Without  another  word,  he  turned  and 
left  her. 

On  returning  to  Miles  Standish  he  recounted  the  conver- 
sation from  beginning  to  end.  The  doughty  captain,  en- 
raged that  he  had  been  flouted,  took  his  friend  to  task  and 
accused  him  of  double  dealing.  The  upshot  of  it  all  was 
that  their  long  friendship  was  shattered  in  a  single  hour 
because  of  a  woman.  Masculine  friendship  that  storms 
of  adversity  and  long  separation  assail  without  result 
often  flies  to  pieces  when  a  woman  comes  between  the 
friends.  Poor  John  Alden  did  not  dare  be  happy,  and 
Priscilla,  willful  maiden,  waited  until  he  should  come  again, 
and  elevated  her  pretty  chin  when  she  came  across  the 
mighty  captain,  now  sullen  when  she  met  him  at  meeting 
or  elsewhere. 

At  that  moment,  fortunately  for  Standish's  wrath,  he 
got  the  opportunity  to  vent  it  on  the  redskins.  He  or- 
ganized his  force  of  twelve  valiant  warriors  and  sallied 
forth  to  teach  the  Indian  his  place  in  the  white  man's 
scheme  of  things. 

Meantime  the  Mayflower  was  returning  to  England. 
Alden,  crushed,  disappointed,  not  daring  for  loyalty  to 
his  angry  friend  to  push  his  suit  with  Priscilla,  planned 
to  return  to  the  old  home,  forsaking  forever  the  Plymouth 
colony.  He  threw  together  his  scanty  belongings  and  went 
to  the  shore  where  the  Mayflower  waited,  straining  her 
anchors.  A  crowd  had  gathered  there,  and  as  Alden  was 
about  to  step  on  the  gunwale  of  the  boat  which  would 
take  him  out  to  the  waiting  vessel  he  saw  amid  the  solemn 
faces  of  the  Pilgrims  the  tear-stained  countenance  of 
Priscilla  Mullins. 

Reproach,  grief  and  unutterable  longing  were  in  her 
eyes.  He  gazed  long  into  them  across  the  distance  be- 
tween them,  then  jumped  back  on  shore.  "Here  I  re- 
main," he  vowed,  raising  his  hand  to  heaven.  So  under 
the  providence  of  God  it  happened  that  not  one  went 
back  in  the  Mayflower  and  the  colony  was  intact,  save  for 
the  ravages  made  by  death. 

When  a  woman  is  as  determined  as  was  Priscilla  to 


26    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

wed  the  man  of  her  choice,  mere  man  hath  little,  indeed, 
to  do  with  it.  Thus  it  happened  that  before  he  knew  it 
John  Alden  was  safely  betrothed  to  Priscilla  and  the 
wedding  day  was  set. 

Meantime  what  of  Miles  Standish?  He  had  not  been 
heard  of  for  weeks,  and  many  feared  that  he  had  fallen 
captive  to  the  Indians  or  been  killed  with  his  little  army 
by  the  savages.  But  not  so  Miles  Standish.  He  was 
angry  when  he  left  Plymouth,  but  the  excitement  of  the 
battle  and  his  own  good  sense  had  reacted,  and,  soldier 
that  he  was,  his  heart  had  veered  away  from  fickle  woman- 
kind, and  he  was  engrossed  in  the  task  at  hand.  Soon 
he  returned  to  Plymouth,  bringing  with  him  as  trophy 
the  head  of  the  brave  Wattawamat,  which  later  adorned 
the  roof  of  the  fort,  a  grim  warning  for  many  months. 
Priscilla,  as  she  looked  on  the  grewsome  object,  must  have 
thanked  God  that  her  choice  had  fallen  on  John  Alden 
and  not  the  bloodthirsty  soldier,  Miles  Standish. 

Alden,  meantime,  was  making  ready  the  home  for  his 
bride.  Finally,  the  blest  day  arrived  and  the  Pilgrims 
were  gathered  in  the  meeting  house  for  the  wedding 
ceremony.  Miles  Standish  had  left  town  some  weeks  be- 
fore on  another  Indian  expedition.  After  the  wedding 
sermon,  according  to  the  goodly  custom  of  the  day,  had 
been  heard,  a  form  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the 
church,  clad  in  armor.  Behind  him  pressed  his  "in- 
vincible army,"  now  reduced  to  eight.  It  was  Capt.  Miles 
Standish,  returned  from  the  wars  to  find  the  lady  he 
loved  the  bride  of  another. 

Dead  silence  fell  over  the  church.  Priscilla  glanced 
archly  at  her  erstwhile  lover  from  the  shelter  of  her  hus- 
band's strong  right  arm.  With  one  stride  Standish  came 
to  their  side.  He  put  out  his  hand  to  the  bridegroom  and 
said  "Let  us  be  friends  again."  John  Alden's  face  was 
aglow  as  he  gladly  grasped  the  hand  of  his  old  friend. 
Turning  to  Priscilla,  Standish  bowed  low  and  said  sim- 
ply, "I  should  have  remembered  the  adage,  'If  you  would 
be  well  served,  you  must  serve  yourself,'  and  moreover, 
no  man  can  gather  cherries  in  Kent  at  the  season  of 
Christmas."  Priscilla  laughed  and  flushed. 

Then  the  wedding  party  adjourned  to  the  roadway, 
where  awaited  Priscilla  a  unique  wedding  steed  in  the 
presence  of  Alden's  snow-white  steed,  covered  with  a  gay 
crimson  cloth  and  with  a  cushion  placed  for  a  saddle. 
Priscilla  mounted  her  steed  and  went  with  John  Alden 
through  the  May-time  lanes  of  old  Plymouth  to  the  home 
he  had  made  for  her. 


Half -For  gotten  Romances  of  American  History       27 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  John  Alden  and  his 
reconciled  friend  went  to  Duxbury,  Mass.,  and  started 
a  settlement  there.  The  bruised  heart  of  Miles  Standish 
had  been  healed  by  the  soft  fingers  of  a  certain  Barbara, 
one  of  the  passengers  on  the  second  coming  of  the  May- 
flower. She  became  the  second  Mrs.  Miles  Standish  and 
in  amity  and  affection  the  two  families  lived  side  by  side 
in  Duxbury.  Priscilla  became  the  mother  of  eleven  chil- 
dren. Thus  this  Pilgrim  romance,  like  a  story  book  tale, 
ends  aptly  with  the  old  phrase  "And  they  lived  happily 
ever  after." 


CHAPTER  3 
George  Washington  and  Martha  Dandridge  Custis 

A  STONE'S  throw  from  old  Bruton  Church,  Williams- 
burg,  Va.,  where  sleep  the  generations  of  Virginians 
that  made  history  in  colonial  days,  stands  an  old-fashioned 
mansion  of  white  stone  with  ivy  creeping  over  its  ancient 
walls  and  with  the  tints  of  years  thick  upon  it.  The 
stately  columns  are  crumbling  now,  but  in  the  garden 
cluster  roses,  honeysuckle  and  hollyhock  just  as  they  did 
nearly  two  centuries  ago  when  Col.  George  Washington 
came  courting  the  buxom  Martha  Dandridge  Custis. 
He  whispered  soft  nothings  in  her  willing  ear  under  the 
shade  of  a  giant  mulberry  that  has  maintained  its  fame  as 
a  trysting  tree  from  that  generation  to  this. 

The  lofty  spirit  of  Washington,  his  unselfish  devotion  to 
his  country  and  his  genius  in  using  power  for  the  good  of 
others,  never  for  himself,  have  placed  him  among  the 
world's  great  men.  From  that  eminence  his  character 
has  acquired  a  status  of  half  god  or  mighty  hero  that,  to 
the  average  person,  makes  him  more  than  a  mortal. 
In  his  exaltation,  much  of  the  human  side  of  the  man  has 
been  sacrificed  to  portray  this  god-like  estate.  Yet  Wash- 
ington was  not  only  the  divinely  appointed  leader  of  the 
infant  colonies,  destined  to  lead  them  on  to  victory  and 
to  greatness.  He  was,  likewise,  a  fine  type  of  the  educated 
Virginia  planter  of  his  day  and  shared  many  of  their 
distinctive  characteristics  of  human  virtues  and  failings 
as  well. 

So  it  comes  with  more  or  less  surprise  that,  as  a  lover, 
Washington  was  ardent  and  that  Martha  Dandridge 
Custis  was  not  his  first  love.  The  charms  of  other  Vir- 
ginia belles  of  the  day  enslaved  his  romantic  heart  again 
and  again.  In  the  after  years,  when  his  name  had  become 
world  famous,  many  a  gentle  old  lady  in  cap  and  lace  ruff 
sighed  gently,  and  mayhap  regretfully,  over  some  tender 
missive,  packed  away  for  years  in  lavender,  that  had  been 
penned  by  the  illustrious  hand  of  George  Washington. 
Why  not?  The  social  life  of  the  Virginia  planters  and 
aristocrats  was  an  Arcadia  of  merriment  and  innocent 
revelry.  The  Virginians  knew  how  to  enjoy  life,  and  with 
Nature's  bounty  about  them  on  every  side  in  climate, 
fruits,  flowers  and  game  Virginia  hospitality  became 
proverbial  and  the  latch  string  was  always  out  for  the 
unexpected  guest.  It  was  an  unwritten  law  of  the  period 
that  no  guest  ever  left  one  of  the  rambling,  comfortable 
old  mansions,  with  their  imported  furniture,  gleaming 
silver  and  sturdy  and  solid  calf -bound  books,  after  nightfall. 

Life  was  a  gay  succession  of  house  parties,  fox  hunts, 

28 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    29 

tournaments,  fishing  parties,  while  the  winter  season  at 
Williamsburg,  the  capital  city,  mid-way  between  the 
York  and  James  rivers,  7  miles  northeast  of  Jamestown, 
was  a  round  of  debates  and  the  official  festivities  of  the 
governor's  house  and  his  aids,  that  would  have  made  a 
current  society  editor  historian  mark  the  Williamsburg 
season  as  brilliant  socially. 

Into  this  atmosphere  the  young  George  Washington  fitted 
by  birth  and  breeding.  He  was  the  beloved  half-brother 
of  one  of  the  wealthiest  men  in  the  colony,  Lawrence 
Washington,  of  Mt.  Vernon,  well  known  by  repute  to  be 
his  heir,  although  in  the  fifties  of  the  eighteenth  century 
still  a  very  young  man,  yet  he  had  a  brilliant  military 
record  of  service  under  the  ill-fated  General  Braddock  in 
the  French  and  Indian  wars. 

In  addition,  the  future  first  President  was  the  close 
friend  and  intimate  of  Lord  Cecil  Fairfax,  the  lord  of 
uncounted  acres  in  upper  Virginia.  And  he  was  the  son 
of  Mistress  Mary  Ball  Washington,  of  Fredericksburg 
and  Rappahannock,  a  lady  noted  in  those  days  for  her 
generous  heart,  her  business  ability  and  the  skill  with 
which  she  raised  her  own  son,  George  Washington,  her 
five  other  children  and  several  step-children.  In  every 
sense  of  the  word  he  was  an  eligible,  a  "good  catch," 
and  many  match-making  mammas  and  willing  damsels 
dreamed  of  bringing  him  to  the  declaration  point. 

Throughout  his  life  Washington  had  a  very  tender  spot 
in  his  heart  for  women.  At  sixteen  he  writes  with  all  of 
youth's  solemnity  of  a  "Hurt  of  the  heart  uncurable." 
And  from  that  time  forward  there  is  ever  some  "Faire 
Mayde"  in  the  story  of  his  life.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
Washington  got  along  with  women  much  better  than  he 
did  with  men;  with  men  he  was  often  diffident  and  awk- 
ward, ill  concealing  his  uneasiness  behind  a  forced  dignity; 
but  he  knew  that  women  admired  him  and  with  them  he 
was  at  ease. 

When  he  made  that  first  western  trip  of  his  carrying  a 
message  to  the  French,  he  turned  aside  to  call  on  the 
Indian  princess,  AKguippa.  She  was  vastly  impressed 
by  the  tall,  handsome  young  Virginian.  He  records 
quaintly  in  his  journal  that  he  presented  her  with  a  blanket 
and  a  bottle  of  rum,  "which  latter  was  thought  the  much 
best  present  of  the  two." 

The  story  of  his  various  courtships  is  written  down  in 
his  expense  account  which  he  kept  from  boyhood  with 
painstaking  care.  Such  entries  as  "Treating  the  ladys, 
2  shillings;"  "Present  for  Polly,  5  shillings;"  "My  share 


30    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

of  the  music  at  the  dance,  3  shillings;"  "Lost  at  loo,  5 
shillings,"  prove  that  he  was  the  average  Virginian  in 
these  respects  of  his  times. 

One  of  the  most  serious  romances  before  he  met  and  fell 
in  love  at  sight  with  the  Widow  Custis  was  with  Mary 
Philipse,  sister  of  Mrs.  Beverly  Robinson,  a  transplanted 
Virginian  as  it  were,  then  residing  in  New  York.  She 
was  older  than  Washington,  a  society  belle.  The  attrac- 
tive Washington,  with  his  refreshing  country  manners, 
his  tales  of  the  frontier  and  military  life  made  him  a 
novelty  in  the  Philipse  drawing  room. 

She  showered  him  with  attentions,  and  his  ardent  young 
heart  soon  succumbed  with  the  natural  delight  that  a 
younger  man  feels  in  awakening  the  interest  of  an  older 
woman.  But  Mary  Philipse,  while  she  admired  and 
respected  him,  did  not  love  him,  and  gently  but  unmis- 
takably turned  him  down.  Two  years  afterward  Mary 
Philipse  married  Col.  Roger  Morris,  of  the  king's  army. 
By  this  time,  1758,  Washington  had  found  the  one  love 
of  his  life  in  Martha  Custis,  and  he  could  read  Mrs. 
Morris1  wedding  cards  with  equanimity. 

Washington  always  attributed  his  defeat  at  the  hands 
of  Mary  Philipse  to  being  too  precipitate  and  "not 
waiting  until  ye  ladye  was  in  ye  mood."  The  long  arm 
of  coincidence  reached  out  again  in  after  years,  when  the 
Washington  who  was  commander  in  chief  of  the  Conti- 
nental army  in  1776  occupied  the  mansion  near  New 
York  of  Colonel  Morris,  the  colonel  and  his  lady  being 
fugitive  Tories. 

Before  actually  reciting  the  romance  of  Washington 
and  Martha  Custis,  it  is  well  to  give  a  little  of  this  first 
first  lady  of  the  land's  history. 

The  colonial  settlers  of  Virginia  brought  their  prayer- 
book  and  their  preachers  with  them.  Among  the  flock 
of  spiritual  advisers  was  good  Master  Rev.  Orlando  Jones, 
a  Welsh  clergyman,  whose  descendants  lived  at  Williams- 
burg,  Va.  There  in  May,  1732,  in  a  plantation,  was 
born  Martha  Dandridge,  she  who  afterwards  became  the 
bride  of  George  Washington.  While  surrounded  by  the 
simple  luxuries  of  the  time,  it  is  doubtful  that  Martha 
Dandridge  ever  received  more  than  the  smattering  and 
fashionable  education  of  young  ladies  of  that  period, 
which  was  composed  largely  of  social  accomplishments, 
dancing,  embroidery  and  the  graceful  and  gentle  arts  of 
gentlewomen. 

The  blue  stocking  was  as  yet  unknown  and  Martha 
Dandridge  Custis  Washington  misspelled  like  a  lady  and 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    31 

was  never  troubled  at  heart  because  she  did  so.  Her 
instruction  was  given  her  at  the  hands  of  a  governess, 
because  girls  never  went  to  school  in  that  era.  Such 
general  knowledge  as  she  possessed  of  the  world  was 
gleaned  from  the  few  books  she  had  read,  and  the  society 
of  her  father's  friends. 

But  her  education  in  home-making  was  most  thorough 
and  complete.  This  home-making  ability  was  later  dis- 
played in  the  excellence  of  the  household  management  at 
Mount  Vernon.  In  every  sense  of  the  word  she  was  a 
home  maker  and  could  not  only  direct  culinary  pursuits 
but  could  concoct  tasteful  dishes  that  won  her  the  crown 
of  womanhood,  the  glory  of  being  a  good  cook.  Martha 
Dandridge  was  a  belle  of  Williamsburg.  She  took  part 
in  the  social  happenings  that  centered  around  the  governor's 
house  there. 

A  description  of  this  period  shows  her  as  "being  rather 
below  the  middle  size,  but  extremely  well  shaped,  with  an 
agreeable  countenance,  dark  hazel  eyes  and  hair,  and 
those  frank,  engaging  manners  so  captivating  in  American 
women.  She  was  not  a  beauty,  but  gentle  and  winning 
in  her  nature,  and  eminently  congenial  to  Washington. 
During  their  long  and  happy  married  life  he  ever  wore  her 
likeness  on  his  heart." 

When  about  18,  young  Daniel  Parke  Custis,  only  son 
and  heir  of  Col.  John  Custis,  one  of  the  king's  councilors 
for  Virginia,  fell  madly  in  love  with  her.  Colonel  Custis 
had  other  plans,  however,  for  his  talented  son  and  desired 
an  alliance  with  the  beautiful  and  accomplished  Evelyn, 
daughter  of  Col.  William  Byr.d,  of  Westover.  Colonel 
Custis  was  disappointed  when  young  Daniel  selected 
Martha  Dandridge  instead  and  even  threatened  disin- 
heritance if  his  son  persisted  in  making  his  own  choice. 
But  word  kept  coming  to  him  of  the  grace  and  sweetness 
of  Martha  Dandridge  and  from  every  lip  fell  praises  of 
her  good  sense  and  amiability.  So  finally  the  doughty 
old  colonel  surrendered  and  wrote  on  a  piece  of  fair  white 
paper,  "I  give  my  free  consent  to  the  union  of  my  son 
with  Miss  Martha  Dandridge." 

The  happy  couple  were  soon  afterward  married,  and 
the  father  of  the  bridegroom  never  ceased  to  rejoice  in 
the  good  fortune  of  his  son  in  marrying  such  a  charming 
girl.  They  took  up  their  abode  at  the  White  House  on 
the  bank  of  the  Pamunkey  river,  in  New  Kent  county, 
and  were  blessed  with  four  children.  In  the  summer  of 
1757,  the  husband  died,  leaving  Martha  at  the  age  of  25, 
one  of  the  wealthiest  widows  in  Virginia,  and  with  beauty 
unimpaired. 


32    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

Besides  the  loss  of  her  husband  Martha  Custis  suffered 
a  severe  blow  in  the  death  of  her  eldest  son,  unusually 
endowed  with  mental  gifts,  and  giving  promise  of  a  bright 
future. 

The  young  widow  administered  her  large  estates  in  a 
capable  manner.  The  trust  her  husband  reposed  in  her 
was  amply  justified  and  her  estates  were  among  the  best 
managed  in  the  country.  They  seemed  to  occupy  her 
entire  attention,  together  with  the  care  of  her  interesting 
children,  and  a  second  marriage,  according  to  all  ac- 
counts, was  far  from  her  thoughts.  After  a  time  she 
began  to  mingle  again  in  Williamsburg  society  and,  while 
greatly  sought  after,  her  heart  appeared  to  be  buried  in 
Daniel  Parke  Custis'  grave. 

But  she  reckoned  without  George  Washington  and  his 
persuasive  powers. 

It  was  a  pleasant  day  in  May,  1758,  that  a  cavalcade 
consisting  of  a  fine  looking  young  military  officer,  dressed 
in  the  British  scarlet  accompanied  by  a  dignified  black 
body  servant,  also  on  horseback,  crossed  Williams  ferry 
on  the  Pamunkey,  not  far  from  its  junction  with  the  York 
River.  A  Mr.  Chamberlayne,  a  planter  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, came  up  and  greeted  Col.  George  Washington,  the 
officer,  and  invited  him  to  stop  at  his  plantation  to  rest 
and  for  dinner. 

Colonel  Washington  declined  and  stated  that  he  was 
hastening  to  Williamsburg  to  lay  before  the  governor  and 
council  of  Virginia  matters  relating  to  the  march  of  the 
British  and  colonials  against  Fort  Duquesne.  Cham- 
berlayne pressed  his  invitation,  but  Washington  still 
declined.  Finally  the  would-be  host  mentioned  the  fact 
that  he  had  as  guest  in  his  family  a  charming  Williams- 
burg widow,  Mrs.  Daniel  Parke  Custis,  and  that  a  few 
hours'  conversation  with  her  would  recompense  the  officer 
for  the  necessity  of  riding  later  at  night  on  account  of  the 
stopover. 

Washington,  ever  alive  to  the  charms  of  a  pretty 
woman,  yielded  at  last  to  Chamberlayne 's  entreaties. 

Bishop,  the  body  servant,  was  instructed  to  hold  the 
horses  ready  for  instant  departure  when  the  colonel  had 
dined  and  completed  his  exchange  of  compliments. 
Bishop  waited  and  waited  and  waited  while  the  length- 
ening shadows  enveloped  the  countryside,  and  still  his 
master  did  not  return. 

Within  the  mansion  the  officer,  now  cavalier,  was  captive 
at  the  feet  of  Martha  Custis.  It  was  a  case  of  love  at 
first  sight,  and  from  that  time  no  other  woman  ever  had 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    33 

the  power  to  charm  George  Washington.  A  historic 
painting  shows  the  patient  Bishop  waiting  at  the  horse- 
block for  his  enslaved  master.  The  sun  sank  below  the 
horizon,  and  yet  the  colonel  appeared  not.  The  tired  and 
hungry  old  servant  wondered  at  his  master's  delay.  It 
was  not  like  him,  for  he  was  the  most  punctual  of  all  men 
and  was  never  a  moment  behind  his  appointments. 

Mr.  Chamberlayne  finally  noticed  the  patient  waiter 
and,  prevailing  upon  the  officer  to  remain  overnight,  Bishop 
was  sent  orders  to  put  up  the  horses. 

The  sun  rode  high  in  the  heavens  the  ensuing  day  when 
the  enamored  soldier  pressed  with  his  spur  his  charger's 
sides  and  sped  on  his  way  to  the  seat  of  government. 
After  dispatching  his  public  business  he  retraced  his 
steps  and  sought  out  the  charming  Widow  Custis  again. 

There  remains  evidence  that  his  courtship  was  im- 
mediately successful,  for  in  Washington's  cash  account 
for  May,  1758,  there  is  an  item,  "One  engagement  ring, 
2  pounds  16  shillings."  Many  a  happy  lover  of  the 
present  day  would  be  glad  to  escape  so  easily  in  his  solitaire 
buying,  but  those  were  more  simple  days  and  the  high 
cost  of  diamonds  was  not  regarded  as  an  essential  part  of 
wedded  bliss  as  it  is  today. 

As  Daniel  Parke  Custis  had  been  dead  less  than  a  year 
there  was  no  immediate  announcement  of  the  engagement. 
But  some  eight  months  later  the  marriage  was  solemnized 
at  the  "White  House,"  New  Kent  County.  Strangely 
enough,  Mrs.  Washington,  although  the  first  "First  Lady  of 
the  Land,"  never  lived  in  the  White  House  in  the  Capital 
City,  but  it  was  a  coincidence  that  her  home  in  Virginia 
was  called  the  White  House. 

We  find  Mrs.  Washington  explaining  to  a  friend  that 
the  reason  for  the  somewhat  hasty  union  was  that  her 
estate  was  getting  into  a  bad  way,  and  a  man  was  needed 
to  look  after  it.  Her  two  children,  John  Parke  and 
Martha  Parke  Custis,  attended  the  ceremony.  Martha 
Custis  had  every  reason  to  be  congratulated  on  her  choice 
of  a  man.  She  owned  15,000  acres  of  land,  many  lots  in 
the  city  of  Williamsburg,  200  negroes  and  some  money 
on  bond;  all  the  property  being  worth  over  $100,000 — a 
very  large  amount  for  those  days. 

The  marriage  ceremony  was  performed  January  17, 
old  style.  The  Rev.  David  Mossom,  rector  of  the  neigh- 
boring parish  church  of  St.  Peter's,  was  the  officiating 
clergyman,  and  the  planters,  members  of  the  Virginia 
assembly,  and  the  belles  and  beaux  attended  the  festivities 
incident  thereto.  We  are  told  that  the  governor  came 


34    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

from  Williamsburg  in  his  coach  and  six,  and  many  of  the 
state  officials  were  also  present  at  the  marriage.  After 
the  marriage  the  bride  and  her  lady  friends  were  borne  to 
her  home,  the  White  House,  in  a  carriage  drawn  by  six 
horses,  on  which  sat  negro  drivers  dressed  in  uniform. 
The  bridegroom,  accompanied  by  other  gentlemen  on 
horseback,  rode  beside  the  coach  on  his  fine  charger. 

At  the  close  of  the  sessions  of  the  House  of  Burgesses, 
to  which  he  was  a  delegate  from  the  district  of  Mount 
Vernon,  he  returned  to  that  Potomac  River  home  which 
he  had  inherited  from  his  brother,  Lawrence  Washington, 
taking  with  him  his  bride  and  her  two  surviving  children, 
John  Parke  and  Martha  Parke  Custis.  Then  com- 
menced that  sweet  domestic  life  at  Mount  Vernon,  which 
always  possessed  a  powerful  charm  for  its  illustrious 
owner.  Writing  to  a  kinsman  in  London,  he  indited  these 
appreciative  words  of  his  new  condition:  "I  am  now,  I 
believe,  fixed  in  this  seat  with  an  agreeable  partner  for 
life,  and  I  hope  to  find  more  happiness  in  retirement  than 
I  ever  experienced  in  the  wide  and  bustling  world." 

This  ardent  hope  was  fulfilled.  For  the  woman  he 
had  chosen  stayed  by  his  side  at  Valley  Forge  during  the 
dark  days  of  the  revolution  and  the  glory  of  the  Presidency 
and  victory  alike.  Their  married  life  was  idyllic,  and  no 
shadow  of  disagreement  or  misunderstanding  ever  crossed 
their  path  or  cast  a  shadow  on  the  peaceful  hills  of  Mount 
Vernon. 

The  only  real  shadow  came  in  the  untimely  death  of 
Washington's  idolized  stepdaughter,  Martha  Custis,  a  girl 
of  rare  beauty,  who  died  in  her  sixteenth  year — of  consump- 
tion. Washington  had  loved  her  as  his  own  child — fated 
as  he  was  to  be  childless,  so,  as  some  one  has  appropriately 
said,  "that  he  might  be  the  Father  of  His  Country. 

This  shadow  passed  into  quiet  resignation  and  in  another 
year  or  so  Mount  Vernon  resumed  its  old  social  life.  Mrs. 
Washington  shared  with  the  general  the  love  of  society  of 
friends;  always  dressed  with  a  scrupulous  regard  for  the 
requirements  of  her  station  and  the  fashions  of  the  day 
and  presided  as  mistress  of  Mount  Vernon  with  great 
dignity  and  urbanity.  The  mansion  was  seldom  without 
guests,  who  came  to  join  Washington  in  the  sports  of  the 
chase.  In  the  years  preceding  the  Revolution  Mrs. 
Washington  was  much  abroad  with  her  husband  and  was 
frequently  seen  with  him  at  the  theaters  and  dancing 
assemblies  at  Annapolis,  Williamsburg  and  Alexandria. 
She  had  at  her  disposal  a  chariot  and  four  horses,  with 
black  postilions  in  livery  for  the  use  of  herself  and  lady 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    35 

visitors,  and  her  equipage  was  frequently  seen  upon  the 
road  between  Mount  Vernon  and  Alexandria  and  adjacent 
estates. 

With  the  Revolution  came  a  change  in  the  social 
conditions.  Not  only  was  Washington  at  the  forefront 
of  the  American  forces,  but  Mrs.  Washington  had  her 
hands  full  during  the  seven  years  it  lasted,  widowed  for 
these  years  except  for  the  winters  when  she  visited  the 
camps  of  Washington  and  was  an  honored  guest  at  the 
headquarters  of  the  army.  "Lady  Washington,  God 
bless  her,"  was  the  toast  at  every  convivial  assemblage  of 
the  soldiers  of  every  rank. 

At  length  the  desired  end  was  in  sight  and  the  American 
troops,  assisted  by  their  gallant  French  allies,  marched  on 
Yorktown.  With  Gen.  Washington  went  John  Parke 
Custis,  leaving  his  young  wife,  a  scion  of  the  noble  family 
of  Lord  Baltimore,  and  their  infant  children  under  the 
sheltering  roof  of  Mount  Vernon. 

Gathered  around  the  great  fireplace  in  the  living  room, 
Martha  Washington  and  her  daughter-in-law  awaited 
news  from  the  battle.  When  it  came,  borne  by  a  panting 
courier,  it  was  victory.  But  he  also  bore  word  of  the 
severe  illness  of  John  Parke  Custis,  the  beloved  son  and 
husband  of  the  women.  Mrs.  Custis  hastened  to  her 
husband's  bedside,  only  to  see  him  draw  his  last  breath, 
and  to  meet  at  the  same  sacred  post  Gen.  Washington, 
who  had  forsaken  the  feasts  of  victory  to  ride  30  miles 
to  see  poor  John  Parke  Custis  breathe  his  last. 

On  the  sad  return  to  Mount  Vernon,  Washington 
comforted  his  sorrowing  wife  with  the  promise  that  he 
would  adopt  the  two  younger  children  of  John  Parke 
Custis  as  his  own.  He  remained  true  to  this  promise, 
and  one  of  the  children,  Nelly  Parke  Custis,  was  his 
special  pet. 

After  the  peace  of  1783  Mount  Vernon  became  a 
point  of  great  attraction,  and  many  notables  from  all 
parts  of  the  world  went  there.  Hospitality  was  necessary 
on  a  liberal  scale.  Mrs.  Washington  preserved  her  sweet 
serenity.  When  her  husband  became  the  chief  magis- 
trate of  the  nation  her  simple  habits  remained  unchanged, 
and  her  larger  household  was  arranged  upon  the  frugal 
model  of  her  home  at  Mount  Vernon.  Both  Mrs.  Washing- 
ton and  he  gave  splendid  examples  of  republican  simplicity, 
and  declined  anything  approaching  royal  honors.  Her 
weekly  receptions  or  soire'es  were  dignified,  yet  with  full 
consideration  of  the  rank  that  imposed  obligation. 

But  public  life  had  few  charms  for  Mrs.  Washington. 


36    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

She  returned  gladly  with  Washington  to  Mount  Vernon 
after  his  terms  of  office  were  over,  and  always  referred  to 
the  time  when  she  was  in  public  life  as  her  "lost  days." 

The  last  years  of  Washington's  life  were  passed  quietly 
at  Mount  Vernon  with  his  chosen  companion.  She  was 
now  nearly  70  years  old,  but  the  charm  of  the  Williams- 
burg  maid  had  never  been  lost.  The  shock  of  Wash- 
ington's death  came  as  a  great  blow  to  her.  Her  words 
at  his  death  were  prophetic:  "'Tis  well,"  she  said.  "All 
is  now  over.  I  shall  soon  follow  him.  I  have  no  more 
trials  to  pass  through." 

In  the  Mount  Vernon  of  today  one  is  shown  the  attic 
bedroom  facing  the  old  tomb  on  the  banks  of  the  river 
and  visible  from  the  window  into  which  Mrs.  Washington 
moved  after  the  death  of  the  great  American  so  she  might 
at  all  times  view  his  grave. 

Her  spirit  seemed  broken,  and  despite  the  endeavors  of 
friends  and  relatives  her  grief  could  not  be  assuaged. 
The  close  companionship  and  affection  of  forty  years 
was  too  precious  to  be  forgotten  or  unregretted.  Her 
only  thoughts  were  with  him  in  the  tomb  where  he  lay, 
and  she  prayed  for  the  moment  to  come  when  she  might 
join  him  again. 

In  a  little  more  than  two  years  this  prayer  was  granted. 
She  died  of  a  lingering  fever,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  window 
of  the  little  bedroom  which  looked  down  on  the  grave  of 
the  man  she  had  so  loved. 

And  the  world  as  it  pauses  in  reverent  tribute  beside 
the  tomb  of  George  and  Martha  Washington  in  historic 
Mount  Vernon  remembers  the  romance  of  this  true  love 
of  the  first  American  and  his  devoted,  noble  wife. 


CHAPTER  4 
Edgar  Allan  Poe  and  Helen  Whitman 

IN  the  longer  of  his  poems,  entitled  "To  Helen,"  Edgar 
Allan  Poe  wrote: 

"I  saw  thee  once — once  only — years  ago; 
I  must  not  say  how  many — but  not  many. 
It  was  a  July  midnight;  and  from  out 
A  full-orbed  moon,  that,  like  thine  own  soul,  soaring, 
Sought  a  precipitate  pathway  up  through  heaven, 
There  fell  a  silvery-silken  veil  of  light, 
With  quietude,  and  sultriness  and  slumber, 
Upon  the  upturned  faces  of  a  thousand 
Roses  that  grew  in  an  enchanted  garden, 
Where  no  wind  dared  to  stir,  unless  on  tip-toe. 


"Clad  all  in  white,  upon  a  violet  bank, 
I  saw  thee  half  reclining;  while  the  moon 
Fell  on  the  upturned  faces  of  the  roses, 
And  on  thine  own,  upturned — alas,  in  sorrow! 

"Was  it  not  Fate  that  on  this  July  midnight — 
Was  it  not  Fate  (whose  name  is  also  Sorrow) 
That  bade  me  pause  before  that  garden-gate, 
To  breathe  the  incense  of  those  slumbering  roses?" 

And  the  object  of  these  inspired  words  was  the  woman, 
the  "one  woman"  of  his  tempestuous  life,  whom  he  called 
"Helen,  my  Helen — the  Helen  of  a  thousand  dreams." 

The  love  story  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe  and  Helen  Whitman, 
the  New  England  poetess,  years  his  senior,  has  seldom 
been  equaled  in  the  history  of  literature.  All  the  pent-up 
romance  of  his  poet  nature  was  bestowed  on  this  idyl  of 
his  dreams,  and  she,  swept  off  her  feet  by  the  ardor  of 
his  attentions,  by  the  wild  frenzy  of  his  wooing,  never 
forgot  him,  and  worshiped  his  memory  to  the  end  of  her 
life.  It  stands  forth,  a  classic  in  the  world  of  romance. 
Mrs.  Whitman,  too,  was  a  poet  of  no  mean  skill  and, 
strangely  enough,  she  is  best  remembered  by  the  lines 
she  wrote  on  a  portrait  of  Poe  which  hung  ever  on  her 
wall,  hidden  by  a  silken  curtain  from  the  sight  of  profane 
eyes. 

The  poem  follows: 

37 


38    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

"After  long  years  I  raised  the  folds  concealing 

That  face,  magnetic  as  the  morning's  beam; 
While  slumbering  memory  thrilled  at  its  revealing 
Like  Memnon  wakening  from  his  marble  dream. 

"Again  I  saw  the  brow's  translucent  pallor, 

The  dark  hair  floating  o'er  it  like  a  plume, 
The  sweet,  imperious  mouth,  whose  haughty  valor 
Defied  all  portents  of  impending  doom." 

It  was  no  marvel  that  they  should  meet,  and  the  lives  of 
Poe  and  Mrs.  Whitman  found  their  climax  in  that  meet- 
ing. Yet  the  poet  Poe,  ever  a  hunter  for  the  mystic  and 
the  improbable,  conceived  a  notion  that  there  was  a  pre- 
ordained connection  between  their  fates. 

"I  yielded  once,"  he  writes,  "to  an  overwhelming  sense 
of  fatality.  From  that  hour  I  have  never  driven  from  my 
soul  the  belief  that  my  destiny,  for  good  or  for  evil,  either 
here  or  hereafter,  is  in  some  measure  interwoven  with 
your  own." 

Hope  was  reborn  in  the  starved  heart  of  Poe,  writhing 
with  the  despair  and  grief  that  had  followed  the  death  the 
year  before  of  his  child  wife,  Virginia  Clemm,  to  whom 
he  was  passionately  devoted,  but  more  with  a  brother's 
love  than  that  which  should  exist  between  man  and  wife. 
The  sweet  but  colorless  child,  Virginia  Clemm,  could  not 
awaken  in  this  poet  heart  the  real  ardor  of  love.  She 
could  only  point  the  way  to  Helen  Whitman,  the  one  love 
of  his  life. 

But  in  Helen  Whitman  was  the  fulfillment  of  all  his 
dreams.  She  was  the  queen  of  his  exquisite  fancies 
about  women,  those  delicate,  rare  visions  of  beautiful 
women,  fairy  creatures,  that  remain  in  lofty  solitude  on 
the  peaks  of  literature,  unsurpassed  by  any  poet  before  or 
since.  So  he  wrote  her  burning  words,  immortal  love 
letters  filled  with  the  fancy  of  their  divine  kinship  of  soul ; 
letters  that  breathe  all  the  passion  of  the  "Sonnets  From 
the  Portuguese;"  letters  that  have  rarely  been  equaled  in 
the  annals  of  love. 

The  pathetic  life  story  of  Poe  is  so  well  known  it  needs 
little  repetition  here.  Less,  at  this  distant  date,  is  known 
of  Mrs.  Whitman,  who  was  one  of  America's  most  gifted 
women  poets  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
She  was  a  native  of  Providence,  R.  I.,  where  she  was  born 
on  January  19  (Poe's  birthday),  in  1803;  therefore  six 
years  his  senior.  Her  family  was  one  of  comfortable  cir- 
cumstances, and  she  was  rarely  gifted  as  a  poet  herself, 


Half -For  gotten  Romances  of  American  History    39 

accomplished  in  many  literatures,  imbued  with  the  cul- 
ture of  France  and  Germany. 

She  married  a  Boston  lawyer,  John  W.  Whitman,  in 
1828,  and  was  left  a  widow,  with  considerable  means,  in 
1833.  Her  home  in  Providence  was  the  scene  of  gather- 
ings of  the  literati  and  almost  assumed  the  proportions 
of  a  salon.  Admirers  in  plenty  besought  her,  but  she  pre- 
ferred the  freedom  of  her  literary  career  to  a  remarriage. 

Tradition  says  that  she  had  long  been  an  admirer  of 
Poe's  poetry  and  had  followed  his  career  with  special 
interest  largely  because  their  inner  natures  were  atune  for 
the  same  racial  characteristics,  Celtic  Norman  lineage, 
warm  romance  blood,  predestined  to  literary  creation  and 
sorrow,  distinguished  both.  Indeed,  in  their  veins  ran 
the  same  kindred  blood,  for  they  both  traced  their  descent 
from  the  ancient  Celtic  Norman  stock,  the  Le  Poers  of 
Ireland,  of  which  both  Mrs.  Whitman's  maiden  name, 
Power,  and  Poe  were  derivations. 

Poe,  on  the  other  hand,  was  familiar  with  Mrs.  Whit- 
man's poems.  In  fact,  their  delicacy,  spontaneity,  appre- 
ciation of  nature  and  mastery  over  rhythm,  poems  of  rare 
sweetness  and  refinement,  had  caught  his  eye  and  soul 
and  drew  from  him  enthusiastic  praise  in  a  lecture  on 
"The  Female  Poets  of  America,"  in  which  Poe's  critical 
sense  of  justice  did  not  falter  in  pointing  out  such  defects 
as  he  discerned  in  the  works  of  his  fair  compeers. 

Yet  they  had  not  met.  But  Poe  had  seen  her,  for  on 
a  hurried  visit  to  Boston  to  deliver  a  lecture  at  the  Lyceum 
there  he  passed  through  Providence  and  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  white  figure  wandering  through  a  moonlit  garden 
that  the  natives  told  him  was  that  of  Mrs.  Whitman, 
the  poetess.  He  had  restlessly  tossed  in  his  hot  hotel 
room,  and  near  midnight  arose  and  went  for  a  moon- 
light stroll,  when  he  saw  the  white  apparition.  His  poetic 
fancy  took  fire,  and  the  emotions  aroused  by  the  incident 
finally,  years  afterward,  culminated  in  the  beautiful  poem 
"To  Helen"  with  which  this  story  begins. 

Poe  could  not  forget  her,  according  to  his  own  testi- 
mony; for  he  wrote  to  her  after  their  formal  acquaint- 
anceship, retracing,  as  lovers  are  prone  to  do,  the  steps  of 
their  relationship,  and  claiming  to  have  cherished  her 
very  name  for  years  before  they  met. 

In  this  letter  he  says: 

"I  have  already  told  you  that  some  few  casual  words 

spoken  of  you  by  were  the  first  in  which  I  had 

ever  heard  your  name  mentioned.  She  alluded  to  what 
she  called  '  your  eccentricities'  and  hinted  at  your  sorrows. 


40    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

Her  description  of  the  former  strangely  arrested — her 
allusion  to  the  latter  enchained  and  riveted  my  attention. 

"She  had  referred  to  thoughts,  sentiments,  traits, 
moods  which  I  knew  to  be  my  own,  but  which,  until  that 
moment,  I  had  believed  to  be  my  own  solely — unshared 
by  any  human  being.  A  profound  sympathy  took  imme- 
diate possession  of  my  soul.  I  can  not  better  explain  to 
you  what  I  felt  than  by  saying  that  your  unknown  heart 
seemed  to  pass  into  my  bosom — there  to  dwell  forever — 
while  mine,  I  thought,  was  translated  into  your  own. 

"  From  that  hour  I  loved  you.  Since  that  period  I  have 
never  seen  nor  heard  your  name  without  a  shiver,  half  of 
delight,  half  of  anxiety.  The  impression  left  upon  my 
mind  was  that  you  were  still  a  wife,  and  it  is  only  within 
the  last  few  months  that  I  have  been  undeceived  in  this 
respect. 

"For  this  reason  I  shunned  your  presence  and  even  the 
city  in  which  you  lived.  I  dared  not  speak  of  you — much 
less  see  you.  For  years  your  name  never  passed  my  lips, 
while  my  soul  drank  in,  with  a  delirious  thirst,  all  that 
was  uttered  in  my  presence  respecting  you. 

"The  merest  whisper  that  concerned  you  awoke  in  me 
a  shuddering  sixth  sense,  vaguely  compounded  of  fear, 
ecstatic  happiness  and  a  wild,  inexplicable  sentiment  that 
resembled  nothing  so  nearly  as  a  consciousness  of  guilt." 

Meantime,  Mrs.  Whitman  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
entirely  immune  from  similar  feelings.  With  the  keenest 
interest  she  followed  his  career,  touched  to  the  depths  of 
her  womanly  heart  by  the  recital  of  his  woes  and  his 
tragic  life.  Her  admiration  awoke  to  renewed  heights  at 
his  publication  of  "The  Raven,"  which  swept  the  literary 
world  with  appreciation  into  acclaiming  him  the  new  poet 
of  the  time. 

Mrs.  Whitman  was  so  carried  away  with  the  weird  poem 
that  she  addressed  an  anonymous  valentine  to  its  writer. 
Naturally,  she  did  not  wish  Poe  to  know  that  she  was  its 
author.  But  to  his  critical  mind  there  was  no  mistaking 
style.  He  knew  at  once  Mrs.  Whitman  was  its  author. 
Speaking  of  the  occurrence  to  her  afterward,  he  said: 
"Judge,  then,  with  what  wondering,  unbelieving  joy  I  re- 
ceived, in  your  well-known  ms.,  the  valentine  which  first 
gave  me  to  see  that  you  knew  me  to  exist. 

"The  idea  of  what  men  call  Fate  lost  then  in  my  eyes 
its  character  of  futility.  I  felt  that  nothing  hereafter 
was  to  be  doubted,  and  lost  myself  for  many  weeks  in  one 
continuous,  delicious  dream,  where  all  was  a  vivid,  yet 
indistinct,  bliss.  Immediately  after  reading  the  valentine 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    41 

I  wished  to  contrive  some  mode  of  acknowledging — with- 
out wounding  you  by  seeming  directly  to  acknowledge — 
my  sense — oh,  my  keen — my  exulting — my  ecstatic  sense 
of  the  honor  you  had  conferred  on  me.  To  accomplish 
as  I  wished  it,  precisely  what  I  wished,  seemed  impossible, 
however." 

Finally  the  poet  hit  upon  the  plan  of  sending  some  of 
his  own  poems  to  Mrs.  Whitman.  To  his  great  sorrow,  no 
answer  came,  no  single  line  of  acknowledgment.  Then 
he  sent  anonymously  in  mss.  his  lines  "To  Helen,"  the 
longer  poem  by  that  name.  Still  no  answer.  Writing 
her  of  the  incident  afterward,  he  divulged  his  purpose  in 
the  last  venture.  "There  was  yet  another  idea  which  im- 
pelled me  to  send  you  those  lines;  I  said  to  myself  the 
sentiment — the  holy  passion  which  glows  in  my  bosom 
for  her  is  of  Heaven,  heavenly,  and  has  no  taint  of  the 
earth.  Thus,  then,  must  lie  in  the  recesses  of  her  own 
pure  bosom,  at  least,  a  germ  of  a  reciprocal  love;  and 
if  this  be  indeed  so,  she  will  need  no  earthly  clew — she 
will  instinctively  feel  who  is  her  correspondent.  In  this 
case  I  may  hope  for  some  faint  token,  at  least." 

But  the  token  did  not  come.  The  lady  was  obdurate. 
Her  silence  drove  his  passion  to  fever  heat.  The  unat- 
tainable— ah,  there  was  the  keynote  of  his  life  story 
again.  It  was  the  very  method  that  could  best  capture 
his  wandering  fancy.  In  despair,  on  the  10th  of  June,  he 
wrote  to  a  literary  friend  as  follows: 

"Do  you  know  Mrs.  Whitman?  I  feel  deep  interest  in 
her  poetry  and  character.  I  have  never  seen  her — never 

but  once.  ,  however,  told  me  many  things  about 

the  romance  of  her  character  which  singularly  interested 
me  and  excited  my  curiosity.  Her  poetry  is,  beyond  ques- 
tion, poetry — instinct  with  genius.  Can  you  not  tell  me 
something  about  her — anything — everything  you  know — 
and  keep  my  secret — that  is  to  say,  let  no  one  know  that 
I  have  asked  you  to  do  so?  May  I  trust  you?  I  can  and 
will.  Edgar  A.  Poe." 

But  love  will  have  its  way,  and  in  the  summer  of  1858, 
armed  with  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Marie  Mclntosh, 
the  authoress,  Poe  called  on  Mrs.  Whitman  at  her  mother's 
home  in  Providence.  The  poetess  consented  to  see  him. 
Poe  afterward  wrote  of  the  impression  made  on  him  by  this 
first  real  sight  of  his  love.  "As  you  entered  the  room, 
pale,  hesitating  and  evidently  oppressed  at  heart;  as  your 
eyes  rested  for  one  brief  moment  upon  mine,  I  felt,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life,  and  tremblingly  acknowledged, 
the  existence  of  spiritual  influences  altogether  out  of  the 


42    Half -Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

reach  of  the  reason.  I  saw  that  you  were  Helen — my 
Helen — the  Helen  of  a  thousand  dreams.  She  whom  the 
great  Giver  of  all  good  had  preordained  to  be  mine — mine 
only — if  not  now,  alas!  then  hereafter  and  forever  in  the 
heavens.  You  spoke  falteringly  and  seemed  scarcely 
conscious  of  what  you  said.  I  heard  no  words — only  the 
soft  voice  more  familiar  to  me  than  my  own.  Your  hand 
rested  within  mine  and  my  whole  soul  shook  with  a 
tremulous  ecstasy;  and  then,  but  for  the  fear  of  grieving 
or  wounding  you,  I  would  have  fallen  at  your  feet  in  as 
pure — in  as  real  a  worship  as  was  ever  offered  to  idol  or  to 
God." 

It  is  small  wonder  that  many  days  did  not  elapse  before 
these  poetic  natures  were  engaged.  All  seemed  to  be 
well,  and  Poe  was  enraptured.  Happiness  was  in  his 
clasp,  at  last,  but  alas,  nearby  was  his  tutelary  spirit  of 
evil  with  its  melancholy  plaint  of  "Never,  never  more." 

Friends  busied  themselves  acquainting  Mrs.  Whitman 
with  the  vagabond  life  and  nature  of  her  poet.  Serious 
old  Horace  Greeley  wrote  in  his  incomparable,  illegible 
hand  writing  to  a  friend,  asking  "if  Mrs.  Whitman  had 
no  friend  within  your  knowledge  who  can  faithfully  ex- 
plain Poe  to  her."  Naturally,  with  such  pressure  on  all 
sides,  the  path  of  their  love  was  not  smooth.  Mrs. 
Whitman  finally  named  the  day,  dependent  upon  Poe's 
keeping  certain  pledges  of  absolute  sobriety  she  had  ex- 
tracted from  him. 

The  unhappy  man,  his  moral  fiber  relaxed  by  disease, 
the  victim  of  hereditary  predispositions,  destitute  of  will 
and  of  self-control  since  the  terrible  years  that  preceded 
Virginia's  death,  broken  in  constitution  and  health  from 
the  awful  vigil  by  her  bedside,  yielded  to  some  unknown 
but  irresistible  pressure  of  evil,  and  broke  his  pledges. 

Mrs.  Whitman  reluctantly  yielded  to  the  importunities 
of  her  friends,  letters  of  renunciation  passed  between  the 
two  poets,  and  they  never  saw  each  other  again.  There 
was  no  scene,  as  some  of  Poe's  defamers  have  declared; 
the  relationship  merely  ceased,  and  they  met  no  more. 

This  was  early  in  1849.  Though  they  knew  it  not,  Poe 
had  only  a  few  more  months  of  life.  After  his  death  Mrs. 
Whitman  was  his  constant  and  stanch  defender,  and  she 
wrote  a  thin  volume  called  "Edgar  Allan  Poe  and  His 
Critics,"  which  speaks  of  him  in  the  highest  praise  and 
contradicted  many  wild  rumors  about  his  sad  life. 

This  tragedy  of  the  heart  colored  all  the  rest  of  Sarah 
Helen  Whitman's  life.  It  could  not  affect  her  apprecia- 
tion of  Poe's  brilliant  powers,  but  it  cast  a  soft,  half-veil- 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    43 

ing  shadow  over  her.     She  seemed  different  and  apart 
from  other  women. 

She  lived  to  be  75  years  of  age,  cherishing  the  memory 
of  her  lost  poet  to  the  last.  She  is  represented  as  lying 
beautiful  as  a  bride  in  death,  her  brown  hair  scarcely 
touched  with  gray.  The  poems  she  had  written  about  Poe, 
beautifully  bound  in  a  little  volume,  were  in  her  hand.  A 
verse  from  one  of  them,  "The  Island  of  Dreams,"  seems 
appropriate  with  which  to  end  this  poets'  romance: 

"Where  the  clouds  that  now  veil  from  us 

heaven's  fair  light, 

Their  soft,  silver  lining  turn  forth  on  the  night; 
When  time  shall  the  vapors  of  falsehood  dispel, 
He  shall  know  if  I  loved  him,  but  never  how  well.". 


CHAPTER  5 
Abraham  Lincoln  and  Ann  Rutledge 

THERE  is  a  rude  log  cabin  in  Larue,  formerly  Hardin 
County,  in  Kentucky,  where,  on  February  12,  1809, 
amid  abject  poverty  and  with  none  of  the  trappings  that 
greet  the  entry  of  princes  of  the  world,  was  born  a  child 
whose  spirit  has  wrought  more  lasting  good  than  most 
men  whom  the  world  is  content  to  call  "great."  This 
child  was  Abraham  Lincoln — "Abe,"  he  was  affectionately 
called  from  boyhood  to  the  dark  hour  of  his  assassination. 
And  no  better  proof  of  the  humanity  of  the  man,  of  his 
universal  appeal  to  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  can 
be  given  than  in  the  fact  that  he  was  generally  so  acclaimed. 

The  year  1809,  an  unusual  one  in  American  history, 
an  "annus  mirabilis,"  to  quote  our  old  friends  the  Latins. 
There  are  years  that  stand  out  in  every  century,  set 
apart  from  their  fellows,  because  of  the  rich  gift  of  notable 
lives  they  bring  to  the  world.  And  no  greater  gift  came 
to  the  world  in  the  nineteenth  century  than  that  on  a  bleak 
February  day  in  1809,  In  a  Kentucky  cabin,  Abraham 
Lincoln  opened  his  dark,  mystic  eyes  to  a  life  that  was 
to  be  for  him  one  of  sorrow  and  travail  but  which  was 
to  bring  happiness  and  hope  to  countless  thousands  and 
prove  an  inspiration  to  mankind  so  long  as  the  scroll  is 
kept  of  the  great  and  good. 

Some  of  his  year  mates  are  worthy  of  mention.  Even, 
as  from  a  Kentucky  cabin  in  that  year,  came  the  lion- 
hearted  Lincoln,  from  a  country  vicarage  in  the  west 
of  England  came  the  sweet  song  bird  Tennyson;  and 
from  another  English-  home  William  Evarts  Gladstone, 
a  champion  also  of  human  liberties.  Poland  saw  the 
birth  of  Chopin,  the  madman  of  music;  the  older  Ger- 
many gave  Mendelssohn  to  translate  the  music  of  he 
spheres  for  the  ear  of  man,  and  America  saw  arise  in  the 
heavens  of  literature  the  poetic  soul  of  Edgar  Allan 
Poe.  Others  among  the  children  contemporaries  of  Lin- 
coln were  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  the  brilliant  New 
England  scholar  and  poet,  and  a  feminine  star,  noted  for 
the  frail  beauty  of  its  poesy — a  star  that  will  light  the 
way  for  achieving  womanhood  until  the  end  of  time — 
the  star  of  Elizabeth  Barrett  (Elizabeth  Barrett  Brown- 
ing), who  voiced  the  soul  of  woman  in  undying  song. 

Tradition  saith  that  so  shiftless  was  Thomas  Lincoln, 
the  father  of  Lincoln,  that  t'.ie  log  cabin  had  only  three 

44 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    45 

sides  and  the  fourth  was  open  to  all  kinds  of  weather.  It 
is  very  likely  that  the  family  was  in  the  class,  in  a  sense, 
of  what  is  known  in  the  South  as  "poor  whites,"  poor 
not  only  as  to  worldly  means  but  in  the  sense  of  character 
as  well.  But  back  of  Thomas  Lincoln  were  men  of 
red  blood  and  achievement;  pioneers,  men  who  had 
dared  to  stand  forth  in  the  perilous  days  of  the  Revolu- 
tion and  defy  England's  mighty  king.  The  sturdy  line 
might  have  run  to  seed  somewhat  under  the  devastating 
influence  of  Thomas  Lincoln's  laziness  and  general  good 
for  nothingness,  but  behind  him  were  staunch  souls 
such  as  Abraham  Lincoln,  his  grandfather,  the  first 
settler  in  Kentucky,  who  came  to  that  new  frontier  of 
civilization  in  1780  and  was  killed  by  the  Indians  in  1784. 

And  back  of  the  first  Abraham  Lincoln  the  racial  line 
went  to  Puritan  New  England  where  Samuel  Lincoln, 
the  President's  first  American  ancestor  and  son  of  Ed- 
ward Lincoln,  gent,  of  Hingham,  Norfolk,  England,  had 
come  to  carve  out  his  destiny  in  the  new  land  beyond 
the  seas.  This  was  in  1637,  and  Sam  Lincoln  was  appren- 
tice to  a  weaver  and  settled  with  two  older  brothers 
in  Hingham,  Mass.  His  son  and  grandson  were  iron 
founders,  a  progression  as  the  world  counted  it  then  from 
the  state  of  apprentice  weaver.  The  grandson  Mor- 
decai  moved  to  Chester  County,  Pa.,  and  from  there  his 
son  John  migrated  to  Augusta  County  (now  Rocking- 
ham  County),  Va.,  and  was  the  President's  great-grand- 
father. 

Such  were  the  short  and  simple  annals  of  his  paternal 
American  ancestors.  They  were  not  "great  folk,"  as  the 
term  is  usually  understood;  nay,  they  were  of  the  plain 
people,  those  selfsame  "plain  people"  Abraham  Lincoln 
so  greatly  loved  because  there  were  so  many  of  them. 
They  sat  not  in  the  seats  of  the  mighty,  and  very  prob- 
ably in  Samuel  Lincoln's  wildest  dreams  after  he  set 
foot  in  the  new  land,  adventurer  and  soldier  of  fortune 
though  he  was,  never  came  a  vision  that  a  descendant 
of  his  should  ever  become  the  ruler  of  the  country  that 
was  to  be  formed  from  the  struggling  little  colonies  of 
his  day. 

On  Lincoln's  mother's  side  of  the  house  the  story  is 
even  of  a  more  humble  and,  in  some  respects,  a  darker 
design.  Nancy  Hanks,  the  mother,  was  a  native  of  Vir- 
ginia, but  repute  had  it  that  she  was  the  illegitimate 
daughter  of  one  Lucy  Hanks.  Yet,  despite  the  shadow 
of  the  bar  sinister  that  clung  to  her  name,  she  was  con- 
siderably above  Thomas  Lincoln  in  social  qualities  and 


46    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

station.  Much  of  the  mystery  of  Lincoln's  life  is  revealed 
by  this  fact,  because,  as  a  rule,  although  there  have  been 
brilliant  exceptions,  most  great  men  have  great  mothers. 
In  fact,  it  seems  as  if  it  did  not  matter  so  very  much 
what  the  fathers  were  so  the  mothers  were  consecrated 
to  the  task  of  making  boys  quit  themselves  like  men. 

Nancy  Hanks  saw  beyond  the  boundaries  of  that  hill- 
side farm  "Rock  Spring"  in  Kentucky.  She  knew  the 
great  world  of  achievement  lay  over  the  hills  and  far 
away,  and  she  knew,  too,  that  knowledge  was  the  key  that 
would  unlock  all  doors  for  her  beloved  son.  Out  of  her 
drab  life  with  its  sordid  details,  its  soul-destroying  poverty 
and  the  struggle  for  existence  with  the  shiftless  "Tom 
Lincoln,"  her  soul  leaped  with  desire  and  ambition  for 
the  lad  who  played  at  her  feet.  There  are  many  mothers 
like  this  in  the  world.  There  were  more,  perhaps,  in  the 
old  days  before  the  lure  of  bridge  and  matinee  called 
mothers  so  much  from  their  natural  cares.  Rock  Spring 
farm  might  bound  the  world  for  Tom  Lincoln;  it  should 
be  but  the  beginning  of  things  for  little  Abe. 

What  the  world  owes  to  Nancy  Hanks  and  her  dreams 
for  her  son  can  never  be  paid  to  her.  But  wherever  a 
man  or  woman  in  the  name  and  memory  of  Nancy  Hanks 
and  her  son  Abraham  helps  a  lad  on  his  way  to  educa- 
tion and  fortune,  that  man  or  woman  is  blessed  beyond 
compare.  For  the  fruits  may  be  greater  than  could  pos- 
sibly be  foretold.  Investment  in  human  lives  can  be 
profitable  as  well  as  useless,  at  times,  when  the  ones 
invested  in  prove  unworthy  of  the  trust.  While  I  was 
not  consulted  in  the  matter  in  any  way,  shape  or  form, 
and  while  I  acknowledged  the  superb  beauty  of  the 
Lincoln  Memorial,  with  its  majestic  simplicity,  so  char- 
acteristic of  the  man  it  commemorates  and  stateliness  of 
design,  yet  to  my  mind  the  most  fitting  memorial  to 
Lincoln  that  could  have  been  erected  would  have  been 
the  living  memorial  of  a  great  school  in  the  capital  of 
the  country,  dedicated  to  the  education  of  the  youth  of 
America  in  the  ideals  for  which  Lincoln  stood. 

The  Lincolns  had  removed  from  Elizabethtown,  Hardin 
County,  Ky.,  to  the  Rock  Spring  farm  shortly  before  the 
birth  of  Abraham.  When  little  Abe  was  4  years  old 
they  moved  again,  this  time  to  a  farm  of  238  acres  on 
Knob  creek,  about  six  miles  from  Hodgenville,  Ky.  But 
the  restless  spirit  of  Tom  Lincoln  was  never  satisfied  in 
any  one  spot  long.  In  1816  they  moved  again,  this 
time  over  the  Ohio  River,  and  settled  on  a  quarter  sec- 
tion near  the  present  village  of  Gentryville,  Spencer 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    47 

County,  Ind.  They  were  miserably  poor.  Tired  and 
worn  out  by  the  long  fight  against  poverty,  Nancy  Hanks 
died  on  October  5,  1818.  The  boy,  then  seven  years 
old,  mourned  her  bitterly,  and  so  did  Tom  Lincoln,  for  a 
time.  But  he  found  a  measure  of  consolation  in  a  renewal 
of  ties  with  an  old  sweetheart,  Mrs.  Sarah  Bush  John- 
ston, whom  he  had  courted  years  before,  and  married 
her  in  December,  1819.  Her  thrift  greatly  improved 
matters  in  the  crude  home,  and  she  exerted  a  great  influ- 
ence over  her  stepson.  Like  his  mother,  she  saw  the 
coming  glory  of  the  lad  and  urged  him  to  study  and 
intellectual  endeavor. 

Spencer  County  was  still  a  wilderness,  and  the  boy 
grew  up  in  pioneer  surroundings,  living  in  a  rude  log 
cabin,  enduring  many  hardships  and  knowing  only  the 
primitive  manners,  conversations  and  ambitions  of 
sparsely  settled  backwoods  communities.  Schools  were 
rare  and  teachers  qualified  to  teach  only  the  merest  rudi- 
ments of  learning.  For  some  time,  the  only  books  Abe 
possessed,  either  by  direct  ownership  or  by  borrowing 
them  from  neighbors,  were  the  Bible,  a  life  of  Wash- 
ington and  one  of  Henry  Clay.  His  entire  schooling,  in 
five  different  schools,  amounted  to  less  than  twelve 
months,  but  he  became  a  good  speller  and  an  excellent 
penman.  His  own  mother  had  taught  him  to  read.  In 
early  boyhood  he  read  and  reread  the  Bible,  Aesop, 
Robinson  Crusoe,  Pilgrim's  Progress  and  a  history  of 
the  United  States.  Burns  and  Shakespeare  later  became 
his  favorite  poets,  and  from  them  and  the  Bible  he  gathered 
that  vast  understanding  of  human  nature  which  was  one 
of  his  most  enduring  qualities  of  character. 

Abe  wrote  rude,  coarse  satires,  crude  verse  and  com- 
positions on  the  American  government,  temperance,  etc. 
At  the  age  of  17  he  had  attained  the  extraordinary  height 
of  6  feet  4  inches,  specially  remarkable  because  of  the 
length  of  his  legs  from  the  knees  down  which  gave  him 
his  towering  inches  over  other  men.  He  was  athletic 
n  tendency  and  participated  in  all  the  wrestling  matches, 
races,  and  lifting  heavyweight  bouts  in  the  neighborhood 
and  had  gained  a  reputation  as  well  of  being  a  two-fisted 
fighter. 

When  19  he  made  a  journey  to  New  Orleans  on  a 
flatboat  as  a  hired  hand. 

Then  came  another  removal  on  the  part  of  the  nomad 
father,  this  time  to  New  Salem,  111.,  where  the  youthful 
Lincoln  became  a  clerk  in  the  local  store,  studied  law 
and  soon  won  his  way  in  his  chosen  profession  to  a  degree 


48    Half -For  gotten  Romances  of  American  History 

that  he  was  chosen  to  represent  the  district  in  the  state 
legislature. 

His  love-story  opened  in  the  sweet  spring  days  of  1835, 
when  the  young  legislator  was  returning  from  Vandalia, 
111.,  then  the  capital  of  the  state.  He  rode  on  horseback 
from  Springfield  the  last  20  miles  of  the  journey.  It 
was  April,  and  the  lanes  and  roads  over  which  he  traveled 
were  lined  with  blossoming  fruit  trees.  Spring  was  in 
the  air,  and  it  only  lacked  the  woman  to  make  the  scene 
ideal  for  twenty  and  three. 

We  can  picture  the  appearance  he  made,  this  man 
who  was  afterward  to  guide  the  destinies  of  America. 
Undoubtedly,  he  wore  a  suit  of  blue  jeans,  the  trousers 
stuffed  into  the  tops  of  cowhide  boots;  a  hat  of  rabbit 
fur  felt,  with  so  long  a  nap  that  its  fringe  at  times  mingled 
in  with  his  heavy  black  hair.  Beneath  the  uncouth 
hat  and  the  equally  unruly  hair  was  a  broad,  high  fore- 
head, luminous  gray  eyes  of  keen  intelligence  which 
the  love  of  his  fellowman  had  softened  to  gentleness 
and  in  which  now  and  then  flashed  gleams  of  humor; 
a  full,  wide  mouth  with  innate  sweetness  lingering  around 
its  corners.  In  the  saddle  bags  was  the  remainder  of 
his  wardrobe,  a  most  meager  one  even  for  those  times, 
and  his  library  of  law  books,  and  in  his  capacious  pocket 
$100  of  his  pay  as  legislator  which  he  was  carrying  home 
to  satisfy  debtors.  Thus  he  rode  on  to  meet  love,  a  love 
that  had  lingered  in  his  heart  for  four  long  years  since 
that  April  morning  when  Ann  Rutledge  had  come  down 
to  cheer  him  as  he  was  taking  the  flatboat  to  New  Orleans 
safely  over  the  New  Salem  dam. 

Clad  in  her  simple  homespun  with  a  blue  sunbonnet, 
she  had  made  a  picture  to  linger  in  any  man's  memory. 
Her  crown  of  hair  was  so  pale  a  gold  as  to  be  almost 
flaxen.  Her  eyes  a  dark,  violet  blue  with  brown  lashes, 
were  tender  in  glance  and  her  pink  coloring  showed  the 
healthy  out-of-door  life  she  had  led. 

That  night  Abe  Lincoln,  the  hero  of  the  dam-shooting 
episode,  had  been  feasted  and  toasted  in  the  eight-room 
tavern  of  logs  owned  by  James  Rutledge,  the  father  of 
Ann,  whose  glance  across  the  waters  had  given  him  the 
power  to  perform  the  feat  that  men  should  talk  of  for 
years  to  come. 

Ann  waited  on  table  at  the  homely  meal,  listened  to 
Abe  telling  some  of  the  stories  that  men  remembered  for 
long  years  afterward,  and  his  kindly  smile  was  very 
pleasing  to  her.  She  did  not  fall  in  love  with  him  then. 
He  was  just  an  incident  in  her  life,  for  she  was  betrothed 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    49 

to  another,  one  John  McNeil,  proprietor  of  the  best  store 
in  the  town  and  of  rich  farming  lands.  Ann  Rutledge 
had  good  blood  in  her  veins.  She  was  descended  from  a 
family  of  South  Carolina  planters  that  boasted  a  signer 
of  the  Declaration,  of  Chief  Justice  of  the  Supreme 
Court  under  President  Washington  and  a  leader  in  an 
early  Congress. 

After  Abe  Lincoln  returned  from  his  trip  to  New 
Orleans  he  often  met  Ann  Rutledge  in  the  "spell  downs" 
and  simple  entertainments  of  the  farmer  folk  of  the 
region.  Lincoln  was  now  boarding  at  the  Rutledge  tavern. 
He  had  risen  rapidly  in  the  public  esteem  and  was  fast 
friends  with  Ann,  who  was  preparing  for  her  wedding  to 
McNeil.  They  studied  grammar  together  out  of  a  rare 
volume  that  Lincoln  had  borrowed.  Ann  made  a  pretty 
picture  in  the  firelight  and  the  candle  light  that  sufficed 
for  reading.  Jn  the  evening  she  wore  the  natural  cream 
white  of  flax  and  wool,  wide  cape,  like  collars  of  home- 
made lace,  pinned  with  a  cameo  or  painted  brooch,  and 
a  high  comb  of  tortoise  shell  behind  the  shining  coil  of 
her  hair. 

Is  there  any  wonder  that  Lincoln  soon  found  he  had 
lost  his  heart  to  her?  But  he  could  not  tell  her  of  his 
love,  for  she  was  the  promised  wife  of  another.  On  the 
fly  leaf  of  the  grammar  he  wrote,  "Ann  Rutledge  is  now 
learning  grammar."  John  McNeil  did  not  fear  Lincoln's 
friendship  for  his  bride-to-be.  He  knew  Abe  was  hon- 
orable, and  he  knew  Ann's  heart  was  all  his  and  that  she 
looked  upon  Abe  as  mentor  and  friend  only. 

But  clouds  grew  across  the  sky  of  this  idyllic  existence. 
John  McNeil  suddenly  sold  his  farms  and  other  holdings 
in  the  spring  of  1834  and  left  for  his  old  home,  indefinitely, 
"back  East."  The  excuse  he  gave  was  that  he  wanted 
to  bring  his  old  father  and  mother  out  West  to  care  for 
them.  When  he  returned  Ann  and  he  were  to  be  married. 

The  months  slipped  by  after  his  departure.  No  letters 
came  from  him.  Word  was  whispered  around  the  neigh- 
borhood that  Ann  had  been  deserted.  Lincoln  heard  the 
talk,  and  it  hurt  him  greatly  but  not  so  much  as  the 
despair  he  saw  growing  in  Ann's  sweet  eyes  as  the  long 
days  passed  with  no  word  from  her  absent  lover. 

Lincoln  was  the  village  postmaster,  and  he  handled 
Ann's  frequent  letters  to  McNeil.  Ann  called  daily  to 
ask  for  a  letter,  but  the  kindly  postmaster  could  only 
shake  his  head  silently  as  she  made  her  daily  fruitless 
inquiry. 

But,  one  day  in  midsummer,  as  Lincoln  looked  over 


50    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

the  mail  there  was  a  letter  for  Ann.  He  leaped  on  a 
horse  and  rode  out  to  the  Rutledge  farm  to  give  it  to 
her.  The  happy  color  came  into  her  cheeks  as  she  saw 
it  was  from  McNeil.  Alone,  she  sped  to  the  river  bank. 
Lincoln  looked  after  her  as  she  went,  knowing  that  the 
letter  meant  the  death  knell  of  the  hopes  he  would  not 
even  acknowledge  to  himself.  But  fate  had  a  dreadful 
blow  in  store  for  Ann  Rutledge.  McNeil  wrote  that  he 
had  deceived  her,  that  his  right  name  was  McNamar,  and 
he  hinted  vaguely  at  reasons  why  he  could  not  return 
to  her.  She  wrote  pleading  letters  to  him,  and  two  more 
came  in  answer  and  then  no  more. 

Soon  it  was  noised  around  that  Ann  Rutledge  had  been 
deserted.  Her  father  broke  in  health  under  the  blight, 
and  the  chivalric  Lincoln  threw  himself  into  the  breach. 
A  new  element  was  added  to  the  absorbing  drama  when 
Lincoln  began  to  pay  open  court  to  Ann,  publishing  far 
and  wide  that  he  would  be  proud  to  win  what  McNamar 
had  not  cared  to  keep. 

At  first  Ann  was  impervious  to  her  new  lover's  atten- 
tions. She  was  too  bruised  and  too  hurt.  Little  by  little 
Lincoln  drew  her  from  her  sad  thoughts,  then  they  began 
to  study  again,  and  when  he  was  elected  to  the  legislature 
in  August  Ann  saw  that  this  was  a  man,  indeed,  and  her 
fancy  turned  to  him. 

In  December  Lincoln  rode  away  for  his  winter  of  law- 
making  at  Vandalia.  Now  letters  came  with  faithful 
regularity  for  Ann.  They  drew  pictures  of  an  ambitious 
future,  they  told  eloquently  of  affairs  at  the  state  capial, 
and  it  is  small  wonder  that  Ann  enjoyed  them  and  answered 
in  pathetic  little  epistles.  So,  on  the  spring  day  in  1835, 
as  Lincoln  rode  homeward  his  mind  dwelt  on  her  with 
a  tenderness  no  longer  forbidden,  no  longer  hopeless  of 
its  reward. 

They  spent  a  happy  summer  together,  reading  Shakes- 
peare and  Burns.  He  pictured  to  her  a  life  together  that 
would  have  no  dark  shadows  of  an  unforgotten  love. 
They  could  not  be  married  until  he  was  admitted  to  the 
bar,  so  she  took  up  her  old  plan  of  going  to  the  Jack- 
sonville academy,  so  she  might  be  trained  to  occupy  her 
proper  place  by  his  side.  Yet  across  Ann's  new  happi- 
ness crept  a  shadow.  Suppose  McNamar  should  come 
back  and  she  found  she  still  loved  him?  The  doubt, 
the  hope  and  fear  of  him  made  her  fade  visibly  before 
her  fond  lover's  eyes.  He  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  it. 

The  thought  tortured  her,  maddened  her  so  that  she 
slipped  into  the  delirium  of  brain  fever,  and  when  Lincoln 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    51 

returned  from  a  business  trip  in  the  county  he  found 
her  in  its  throes. 

She  was  only  conscious  again  for  an  hour,  which  Lin- 
coln spent  with  her.  What  passed  between  them  in  that 
hour  of  parting  no  one  else  ever  knew.  But  the  look 
of  sorrow  that  was  in  his  eyes  until  his  death  came  there 
in  that  hour,  and  he  stumbled  out  of  that  death  chamber 
like  a  soul  gone  blind  and  groping.  Two  days  later, 
Ann  Rutledge  died. 

It  was  months  before  Lincoln  could  rally  from  the 
blow  and  the  shock.  He  spent  hours  at  her  grave,  his 
mind  was  darkened  for  a  time,  and  he  passed  days  in  a 
brooding  melancholy  that  his  friends  feared  would  end 
in  a  suicidal  mania. 

When  the  winter  came,  one  night  amid  the  blasts  of  a 
tempestuous  storm  he  arose,  went  to  the  door  and  looked 
out  into  the  wild  night.  Suddenly  he  cried  out  in  utter 
desolation: 

"I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  her  out  there  alone,  in  the 
cold  and  darkness  and  storm."  The  tears  came,  the  ice 
of  his  frozen  heart  was  unlocked  at  last  and  his  reason 
saved.  Frequently  he  said,  "My  heart  is  buried  in  the 
grave  with  that  dear  girl." 

In  1909,  Lincoln's  centennial  year,  a  slender  shaft  of 
Carrara  marble  was  placed  over  Ann  Rutledge's  grave 
in  Oakland  cemetery,  Petersburg,  111. 

"Flow  gently,  sweet  Sangamon,  disturb  not  her  dream." 

But  even  such  grief  as  Lincoln  experienced  at  the  death 
of  Ann  Rutledge  comes  in  time  to  be  assuaged.  Youth 
will  be  served  and  we  are  but  mortal,  even  the  Lincolns 
among  us,  and  within  a  few  years  Lincoln  found  another 
romance  budding  in  his  heart. 

It  was  for  vivacious  Mary  Todd,  a  Kentucky  girl  of 
good  family  and  social  standing  both  in  Illinois  and 
Kentucky.  Ann  Rutledge  became  only  a  sweet  memory. 
And  Mary  Todd  and  Abraham  Lincoln  were  married  in 
1842.  Four  sons  were  born  to  the  Lincolns,  of  whom 
the  only  one  to  grow  up  was  the  eldest,  Robert  Todd 
Lincoln,  who  now  resides  on  U  Street  in  Georgetown. 


CHAPTER  6 
Robert  Edward  Lee  and  Mary  Parke  Custi* 

THE  death  recently  of  Col.  Robert  E.  Lee,  only  surviv- 
ing grandson  of  Gen.  Robert  E.  Lee,  the  great  Southern 
leader,  recalls  the  idyll  of  Arlington,  one  of  the  most 
memorable  romances  in  American  history. 

Like  his  great  contemporary  and  generous  enemy,  Gen- 
eral Grant,  Lee  was  not  only  brave  but  gallant  at  heart. 
As  a  poet  once  so  strikingly  said: 

"The  bravest  are  the  tenderest. 
The  loving  are  the  daring." 

To  be  truly  loved  by  any  man  is  the  enduring  crown 
of  womanhood,  but  to  be  the  darling  of  a  hero  and  world 
leader  is  a  lot  that  falls  to  comparatively  few  women. 

The  thousands  of  Americans  and  foreigners  who  yearly 
with  reverent  tread  and  bared  heads  visit  the  sacred  aisles 
of  Arlington,  where  sleep  the  nation's  dead,  know  all  too 
little  of  the  history  connected  with  that  consecrated 
ground  and  nothing  of  the  romance  that  clusters  about 
its  dells  and  graceful  century-old  trees. 

Nor  do  many  know  that  a  quaint  home  on  Washington 
street  in  venerable  Alexandria  was  the  boyhood  home  of 
Robert  E.  Lee  and  the  scene  of  the  beginnings  of  his 
romantic  love  story. 

The  colonial  pillars  are  shelter  for  the  climbing  honey- 
suckle and  white  roses  that  are  descended  from  the 
flowers  that  poured  their  fragrance  forth  for  the  dark- 
eyed  little  boy — later  to  be  the  world-renowned  leader  of 
a  "lost  cause" — who  then  called  that  hallowed  spot 
"home." 

Robert  E.  Lee  still  lives  in  history  and  the  hearts  of 
the  American  people,  although  his  mortal  remains  rest 
under  the  benediction  of  adoring  youth  in  the  quiet 
chapel  of  Lexington.  Mary  Parke  Custis  Lee,  the  belle 
of  Arlington — his  first  sweetheart  and  his  last,  too — has 
gone  the  way  of  all  flesh.  The  banner  he  loved  and  for 
which  he  fought  is  furled,  albeit  its  veteran  soldiers  kiss 
its  tattered  folds  as  they  march  by  in  feeble  ranks  to  death. 

The  picture  is  set;  the  actors  are  about  to  pass  over 
the  silver  screen  of  memory.  Here's  a  toast  to  the  gallant 
son  of  "Light  Horse  Harry"  Lee  and  his  fair  lady. 

The  first  scene  in  the  romance  is  a  prologue,  as  it  were. 

52 


Half -Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    S3 

To  understand  the  character  of  Lee,  or  of  any  man,  for 
that  matter,  one  must  have  some  conception  of  his  an- 
cestors, of  his  family  traditions  and  the  inheritance  of 
intellect,  talent,  culture  and  virtue  that  should  rightfully 
be  his. 

When  Charles  I  was  seated  on  his  unsteady  throne 
that  was  to  prove  a  short  step  to  the  scaffold,  a  certain 
Col.  Richard  Lee — a  Shropshire  Lee,  of  Moreton  Regis — 
was  one  of  his  good  gentlemen  and  soldiers.  When  age 
crept  upon  him  Colonel  Lee  secured  from  his  complaisant 
monarch  a  patent  to  vast  acres  of  land  in  the  virgin 
country  beyond  the  seas. 

Bidding  farewell  to  his  native  land,  Colonel  Lee,  with 
staunch  heart,  set  forth  on  his  new  venture.  His  land 
was  situated  in  what  is  now  Westmoreland  County,  Va. 
It  was  unbroken  wilderness  in  that  year  of  grace,  and  the 
red  peril  lingered  ever  at  the  door  of  the  white  settler, 
were  he  king's  man  or  pioneer.  The  colonel  cleared  river 
land  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac  and  built  himself  a 
spacious,  colonial  mansion  which  he  named  "Stratford," 
in  grateful  memory  of  a  family  home  in  the  old  country. 

To  the  last  hour  of  his  life  Colonel  Lee  was  a  Stuart  ad- 
herent. In  his  will  he  completely  ignored  the  protectorate 
in  dating  it  as  follows: 

"The  6th  of  February,  in  the  sixteenth  year  of  the  reign 
of  our  sovereign  lord,  Charles  II,  King  of  Great  Britain." 
At  that  time  the  second  Charles  had  been  on  the  throne 
but  three  short  years. 

With  Governor  Berkeley  he  assisted  in  keeping  the  col- 
ony loyal  to  the  crown.  The  second  son  of  the  doughty 
old  colonel  and  Jacobite  Richard  had  five  sons.  It  is  from 
Richard  Lee  that  the  family  of  Robert  Edward  was 
descended. 

Dashing  "Light  Horse  Harry"  Lee,  one  of  the  popular 
heroes  of  the  Revolution,  was  a  law  student  at  Princeton 
when  the  storm  of  war  broke  over  his  beloved  country. 
Down  went  his  Blackstone,  and  the  19-year-old  lad 
buckled  on  old  Colonel  Lee's  sword  and  answered  "Here 
am  I"  to  the  bugle  that  shrilled  high,  calling  those  early 
sons  of  America  to  arms. 

Before  many  months  Henry  Lee,  the  law  student,  was 
"Light  Horse  Harry"  Lee,  the  cavalry  captain.  Boys 
became  men  overnight  in  those  fate-filled  days,  and  be- 
fore Lee  was  25  years  old  his  gallantry  and  military 
sagacity  were  rewarded. 

General  Washington  was  devoted  to  "Lightf  Horse 
Harry"  Lee.  He  admired  his  dauntless  courage,  and 


54    Half -Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

there  is  a  legend  that  his  feelings  for  the  dashing  young 
cavalryman  was  the  more  enhanced  because  Washington 
had  once  entertained  tender  sentiment  for  the  beautiful 
Lucy  Grymes,  afterward  Lee's  mother. 

The  Revolution  won,  "Light  Horse  Harry"  Lee  retired 
to  Stratford  and  the  quiet  of  a  Virginia  country  gentle- 
man. After  the  death  of  his  first  wife,  Matilda,  and  his 
two  infant  sons,  "Light  Horse  Harry"  Lee  was  grief- 
stricken  for  a  number  of  years.  Then  he  met  Annie  Hill 
Carter,  daughter  of  Shirley  Carter,  a  belle  of  the  day. 
New  romance  budded  in  his  heart.  They  were  married 
and  happiness  again  reigned  at  Stratford,  especially  when 
a  succession  of  four  sturdy  sons  and  two  buxom  daughters 
made  the  roof  tree  of  the  old  mansion  fairly  ring  with  child- 
ish laughter.  There  was  born  on  January  19,  1807,  Robert 
Edward  Lee,  the  third  son.  Little  Robert  was  rather  delicate 
when  a  lad,  although  he  grew  more  robust  in  after  years 
and  quite  an  athlete.  The  chivalric  nature  of  the  boy  was 
stimulated  by  the  environs  of  this  stately  Virginia  home. 
Around  him  were  old  portraits,  old  plate  and  old  furni- 
ture, telling  plainly  of  the  ancient  origin  and  high  posi- 
tion of  his  family.  In  the  quaint  mahogany  secretary 
were  parchment  family  trees,  histories  and  time-mellowed 
land  deeds.  Gray  old  servants  lulled  him  to  sleep  with 
stirring  recitals  of  his  people.  All  was  calculated  to  im- 
press on  his  mind  the  lofty  doctrine  of  "noblesse  oblige," 
an  obligation  to  which  Robert  Edward  Lee  remained  true 
all  his  days. 

He  never  forgot  Stratford,  and  often  in  later  years  de- 
scribed in  glowing  terms  the  beautiful  old  mansion,  built 
in  the  form  of  the  letter  "H".  Some  idea  of  its  massive 
proportions  can  be  gained  from  the  fact  that  its  walls 
were  several  feet  in  thickness.  In  its  center  was  a  large 
salon.  Surmounting  each  wing  was  a  pavilion  with  bal- 
ustrades, above  which  rose  clusters  of  chimneys.  The 
front  door  was  reached  by  a  broad  flight  of  steps;  the 
grounds  handsome  and  alive  with  bright  foliage  of  oaks, 
cedars  and  maple  trees  and  the  ghostly  Lombardy 
poplar. 

The  best  testimony  of  Robert's  boyhood  was  given  by 
his  father,  who  wrote,  "Robert  was  always  good."  This 
witness  is  further  attested  by  the  fact  that  when  he  went 
to  West  Point  he  never  received  a  demerit.  And,  as  every 
army  officer  will  testify,  to  receive  demerits  at  West  Point 
is  one  of  the  easiest  things  in  the  world  to  accomplish. 

When  Robert  was  4  years  old  a  change  came  in  the  for- 
tunes of  his  family.  A  stately  house  was  left  to  "Light 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    55 

Horse  Harry"  Lee  in  Alexandria,  the  big  town  of  the 
Potomac  waterside.  Because  of  the  better  facilities  for 
education  of  his  children,  "Light  Horse  Harry"  Lee  left 
beautiful  Stratford  and  went  to  live  in  Alexandria. 

It  was  not  long  after  their  removal  to  the  quaint  little 
town  that  6-year-old  Robert  Lee  first  met  Mary  Parke 
Custis,  then  a  toddling  4-year-old,  who  was  afterward  to 
be  his  wife. 

One  day  after  the  Lees  had  become  settled  in  their  new 
home  a  stately  coach  and  four  from  Arlington  Manor 
House  drove  up  the  long  driveway.  Within  were  Mis- 
tress George  Washington  Parke  Custis,  wife  of  the  adopted 
son  of  General  Washington,  and  tiny  baby  Mary.  While 
the  ladies  exchanged  the  courtesies  of  the  season  little 
Robert  and  even  smaller  Mary  sat  demurely  on  the 
veranda  steps,  also  getting  acquainted. 

Suddenly  a  scream  arose  from  the  veranda.  "Bad 
boy!"  shrieked  Mary,  stamping  her  tiny  foot.  Both 
mothers  rushed  out.  The  boy  was  sitting  quietly,  watch- 
ing the  child's  temper. 

"Whatever  is  the  matter,  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Custis. 

"Bad  boy  teased  me,"  replied  the  angry  child. 

Mrs.  Lee  turned  to  Robert.  "  I  stopped  her  pulling  the 
cat's  tail,"  said  the  lad  quietly.  "It  hurt  Pussy." 

The  ladies  laughed,  and  little  Mary  was  finally  per- 
suaded to  smile  again  by  a  visit  to  Robert's  pet  pony. 

It  might  be  well  to  digress  just  here,  inasmuch  as  the 
party  of  the  second  part  of  this  romance  has  now  been 
introduced  to  the  gentle  public. 

It  will  be  remembered  when  George  Washington 
courted  and  won  the  dashing  widow  Custis  and  bore  off 
in  triumph  his  bride  to  Mount  Vernon  that  the  buxom 
Mistress  Custis  possessed  two  young  children,  Martha 
and  John  Parke  Custis.  These  step-children  were  the 
apple  of  General  Washington's  eye,  and  he  personally 
superintended  their  education,  lavishing  on  them  all  the 
love  that  he  would  have  given  to  children  of  his  own. 
Young  John  Parke  Custis  acquitted  himself  with  credit, 
was  a  member  of  the  Virginia  legislature  and  on  Washing- 
ton's staff  during  the  revolutionary  war.  He  married  and 
had  four  young  children.  All  was  going  well  with  the 
little  family  when  the  young  father  was  stricken  ill  and 
sent  home  by  General  Washington  to  Mount  Vernon  to  be 
nursed  back  to  health.  The  day  of  the  surrender  of  York- 
town  dawned,  the  British  humbled  their  proud  flag  in  the 
dust,  Washington  was  surrounded  by  his  victorious  gen- 
erals, their  idol,  when  through  the  ranks  broke  a  courier. 


56    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

He  bore  a  message  that  John  Parke  Custis  had  died  on 
that  day  of  victory.  Poor  Martha  Washington !  Her  only 
daughter  had  died  several  years  before,  and  the  doubly 
bereaved  mother  now  awaited  the  homecoming  of  her 
husband.  Putting  aside  all  thoughts  of  rejoicing,  Wash- 
ington giving  the  fruits  of  victory  into  the  hands  of  his 
generals,  set  out  that  night  to  gallop  by  night  and  day 
over  the  rough  country  roads  until  he  could  reach  the  side 
of  his  sorrowing  wife. 

As  a  consolation  to  Mrs.  Washington  in  her  bereave- 
ment, he  adopted  the  two  youngest  children  of  the  de- 
ceased, a  boy,  George  Washington  Parke  Custis,  and  a 
girl,  who  thenceforth  formed  a  part  of  his  immediate 
family. 

Sunshine  came  again  into  Mount  Vernon  with  these 
innocent  children.  When  little  George  Washington 
Parke  Custis  grew  to  manhood  he  inherited  the  magnifi- 
cent estate  of  Arlington  Manor,  also  on  the  Potomac,  a 
few  miles  above  Mount  Vernon.  He  married,  and  his 
little  daughter  Mary  is  the  child  who  was  the  boyhood 
and  manhood  sweetheart  of  Robert  Edward  Lee. 

To  return  to  the  children  seated  on  the  Lees'  front 
veranda.  That  was  their  first  meeting,  but  not  their  last. 
They  grew  up  side  by  side,  sharing  their  games  and 
sports  and  children's  parties  together.  Always  it  was 
Mary  Custis  who  chose  "Bob  Lee"  in  "postoffice"  and 
other  kissing  games.  The  parents  of  both  smiled  indul- 
gently. After  all,  an  alliance  between  these  historic 
houses  would  be  most  proper  and  fitting  and  it  would 
join  in  addition  two  great  estates. 

A  great  grief  befell  Robert  E.  Lee  when  he  was  but 
7  years  old.  His  gallant  father,  "Light  Horse  Harry" 
Lee,  the  Revolutionary  hero  and  patriot,  became  a  help- 
less invalid.  He  was  sent  to  the  West  Indies  to  recup- 
erate. There  he  lived  for  five  years  separated  from  his 
loving  family.  In  1818  he  found,  to  put  it  in  his  own 
words, "that  he  was  approaching  the  Valley  of  the  Shad- 
ow," and  his  one  desire  was  to  end  his  days  at  home. 
So  he  set  sail  in  a  little  coasting  vessel,  but  the  pitching 
and  tossing  of  the  ship  so  aggravated  his  malady  that 
he  was  obliged  to  make  port  at  Cumberland  Island,  off 
the  coast  of  Georgia.  His  former  friend  and  commander, 
Gen.  Nathaniel  Green,  had  an  estate  there,  and  his  mar- 
ried daughter,  Mrs.  James  Shaw,  was  residing  in  its 
beautiful  mansion.  General  Lee  was  taken  off  the  boat  in 
a  dying  condition.  Every  care  and  comfort  and  attention 
was  bestowed  upon  him,  but  in  vain.  He  was  buried 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    57 

close  to  the  grave  of  General  Greene,  and  Robert  E.  Lee 
was  a  fatherless  lad  of  eleven. 

Such  griefs  mature  boys  quickly,  and  young  Robert 
felt  that  he  must  protect  and  care  for  his  mother.  His 
beautiful  nature  flowered  into  manly  consideration  for 
the  stricken  widow,  and  he  honored  his  father  by  caring 
for  his  father's  wife.  Life,  with  all  its  problems,  grew 
serious  overnight,  and  he  besought  his  mother  to  place 
him  in  the  hands  of  a  tutor  so  he  might  the  more  quickly 
prepare  for  his  career  at  West  Point  and  follow  his  father's 
profession  of  soldier. 

His  mother  yielded  to  his  wishes  and  placed  him  under 
the  tutelage  of  a  Mr.  Leary,  a  gentleman  of  scholarly 
attainments.  His  spiritual  adviser  who  taught  him  the 
catechism  was  young  William  Meade,  afterwards  Bishop 
of  Virginia,  historian  of  the  old  Dominion.  When  Bishop 
Meade,  years  later,  at  the  time  of  the  Civil  War,  was  about 
to  die  he  sent  for  his  former  pupil  and  said:  "God  bless 
you,  Robert — I  cannot  call  you  'general' — I  heard  your 
catechism  too  often." 

Mr.  Leary  did  his  work  well,  and  when  Robert  Lee 
reached  18  the  longed-for  appointment  to  West  Point 
came.  Robert  was  thrilled  and  his  first  act  was  to  ride 
over  to  Arlington  Manor  house  and  tell  Molly  Custis  the 
good  news.  That  very  night  they  became  engaged,  and 
young  Robert  went  off  to  the  academy  determined  to 
make  his  mark  for  the  sake  not  only  of  his  mother  but 
the  sweet  faced  Virginia  girl  who  awaited  his  return. 

There  has  never  been  a  better  cadet,  one  more  filled 
with  the  traditions  of  West  Point  and  all  for  which  they 
stand,  than  Robert  Edward  Lee.  And  there  have  been 
few  men  there  who  so  won  both  the  affection  and  respect 
of  his  fellow  cadets,  and  of  his  superior  officers  as  well, 
because  he  never  earned  a  single  demerit,  as  said  before, 
and  was  graduated  second  in  his  class.  The  military 
science  was  his  absorbing  study,  and  much  of  the  genius 
he  afterwards  displayed  as  the  gallant  chieftain  of  a  lost 
cause  was  developed  at  West  Point. 

On  graduation  Lee  was  made  a  second  lieutenant  of 
engineers  and  sent  to  assist  in  completing  the  extensive 
fortifications  planned  at  Hampton  Roads  for  the  defense 
of  the  Chesapeake  in  case  of  attack.  It  was  the  very 
irony  of  fate  that  this  knowledge  was  afterward  used  by 
Lee  to  good  effect  in  the  war  between  the  states. 

Mary  Custis  waited  patiently  at  home.  The  time  was 
drawing  near  when  they  were  to  be  married  and  the  hope 
chest  was  filled  almost  to  overflowing.  The  great  day 


58    Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History 

came,  June  30,  1831,  when  Lieut.  Robert  E.  Lee  was  to 
wed  the  sweetheart  of  his  boyhood  and  his  young  man- 
hood, Mary  Parke  Custis.  A  nephew  of  General  Lee, 
Fitzhugh  Lee,  has  described  the  marriage  scene  at  Arling- 
ton. He  writes: 

"Old  Arlington  was  in  all  her  glory  that  night.  The 
stately  mansion  never  held  a  happier  assemblage.  Its 
broad  portico  and  widespread  wings  held  out  open  arms, 
as  it  were,  to  welcome  the  coming  guests.  Its  simple 
Doric  columns  graced  domestic  comfort  with  a  classic  air. 
Its  halls  and  chambers  were  adorned  with  portraits  of  the 
patriots  and  heroes  and  with  illustrations  and  relics  of  the 
great  revolution  and  of  the  'Father  of  His  Country,' 
and,  without  and  within,  history  and  tradition  seemed  to 
breathe  their  legends  upon  a  canvas  as  soft  as  a  dream  of 
peace." 

The  ceremony  was  performed  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Keith, 
and  it  is  not  hard  to  imagine  the  picture  of  the  beautiful 
young  bride  and  the  handsome,  stalwart  young  officer  of 
the  engineers  standing  there  as  they  plighted  their  troth. 

After  a  short  honeymoon  Lee  returned  to  his  work  on 
the  harbor  defenses.  Later  came  a  Washington  appoint- 
ment, and  he  rose  steadily  in  his  profession,  giving  good 
service  in  the  Indian  skirmishes  and  in  the  Mexican  War 
as  well. 

During  the  Mexican  War  Lee  wrote  steadily  to  his 
wife  and  the  two  little  sons  who  had  come  to  make  his 
home  the  happier.  It  was  their  first  separation  at  Christ- 
mas. He  writes:  "We  have  had  many  Christmases  to- 
gether. It  is  the  first  time  we  have  been  entirely  sep- 
arated at  this  holy  time  since  our  marriage.  I  hope  it 
does  not  interfere  with  your  happiness,  surrounded  as 
you  are  by  father,  mother,  children  and  dear  friends.  I 
therefore  trust  you  are  happy  and  that  this  is  the  last 
time  I  shall  be  absent  from  you  during  my  life.  May 
God  bless  you  till  then  and  forever  after  is  my  constant 
prayer." 

The  children  born  to  Robert  E.  Lee  and  his  wife  were: 
George  Washington  Custis  Lee,  W.  H.  F.  Lee  and  Robert 
E.  Lee,  Jr.,  and  four  daughters,  one  of  whom,  Miss  Mary 
Custis  Lee,  lived  until  a  few  years  ago. 

Of  Lee  in  the  civil  war  and  in  the  trying  days  of  recon- 
struction history  has  written  so  fully  that  more  here 
would  be  merely  superfluous.  The  gentle  Mary  Custis 
was  now  a  confirmed  invalid,  and  he  watched  over  her 
with  the  care  of  a  mother.  Their  romance  survived  de- 
feat, disillusionment,  and  together  they  drank  the  bitter 


Half-Forgotten  Romances  of  American  History    59 

cup  of  disappointment  and  found  it  sweet  because  they 
were  together. 

But  October  14,  1870,  was  to  see  their  mortal  parting, 
for  on  that  day,  when  the  whole  South  stood  with  bared 
heads,  Robert  E.  Lee  passed  on  at  the  behest  of  the 
great  Commander-in-Chief  of  Humanity  to  whose  dic- 
tates there  is  no  manner  of  gainsaying.  Mrs.  Lee  did 
not  long  survive  him,  faithful  and  true  to  the  last  to  this 
Chevalier  Bayard  of  a  Lost  Cause. 


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